


Time of the Season

by lilredsoupbowl



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: 60's music!, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, F/M, Gen, It's a 60's AU ending with Woodstock - DRUGS!, Other, Recreational Drug Use, Sex, Sex Drugs and Rock and Roll, Substance Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-09-30 06:37:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 31,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10156364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilredsoupbowl/pseuds/lilredsoupbowl
Summary: The evolution of psychedelic rocker Jyn Erso throughout the 60’s as she struggles to find her sound and a place she feels at home; through her tumultuous relationships with other musicians – including her sometimes friendship with the pop trio ‘the Rebels’ and frictional love of their frontman Cassian Andor. Starting as a runaway in 1964 and leading to performing for Leia Organa’s anti-war music festival ‘Woodstock’.





	1. 1964

In 1964, Jyn Erso ran away. She was hardly considered the ‘type’; a quixotic childhood in the English countryside with bohemian – but very doting – parents. Well-to-do. Educated at the top schools with the ideal that anything in the world could be her’s if she stayed focused. But the discontentment that was slowly seeping into the collective consciousness of her generation lingered when she arrived in Cambridge; the St. Mary’s School an obvious stepping stone to an assured prestigious future… a future Jyn was beginning to dread. She went through the functions of collegiate life. Attended parties, lectures, and dates with the average ‘Joe College’ types – but the feeling of dread only grew more acute; a festering hollowness that kept Jyn awake at night.

When she stopped breathing during a chemistry examination, Jyn finally recognized she had reached the pinnacle of her academic career. She had attempted to talk herself down; out of the crippling panic attack. But the walls kept closing in around her – a stack of untouched papers fluttered to the floor when Jyn rose from her desk and marched for the nearest exit. From then on, it was perpetual motion in a daze. Jyn could only freely breathe again when her feet landed on the sidewalks of New York; shouldering her guitar case as she meandered through the maze of city.

It was long past midnight when she reached the club Saw Gerrera had been performing at the night before. It would have made sense that her godfather and his band had long left – as had everyone else besides the usual stragglers stumbling through the sidewalks; catcalling as they fell over the curb. But a white van was still parked in the back alley – the words ‘the SAW GERRERA EXPERIMENT’ painted boldly along the side. A burly man was loading up their equipment. Jyn cleared her throat; attempting to gain his attention, “Excuse me—” she called-out; trying to appear tough when the gruff man raised his brow at her; continuing his task unfazed.

Jyn sat her cases down; craning her neck to get a look inside the van, “Is Saw Gerrera –“

“No autographs,” the man interrupted quickly; clearly used to being pestered after shows. 

“No,” Jyn replied; still trying to peer inside the van. “No. I know Saw and –“

“Bit young for Saw,” the man finally paused; giving her an evaluating stare – as uncomfortable with his own implication as Jyn was. Jyn’s hands fisted along the edge of her mini-skirt as she attempted to flatten it; now self-conscious of the length. 

“Relax, Baze,” a cool voice sounded from the backdoor. “I used to bounce this little thing on my knee.” 

Baze remained unconvinced; watching Saw approach the van with distrust. 

“She’s Galen Erso’s daughter,” explained Saw. That was all Baze needed to hear to contentedly return backstage for more of their equipment; leaving Jyn nervously shifting her weight between legs as Saw studied her keenly. 

“Baze worked with your daddy and I in a session’s band,” Saw nodded to where the man disappeared inside the building again. “Years ago. Brilliant drummer. Even better security detail.”

Saw seemed to be waiting for Jyn to talk; noticing her guitar and suitcase with a smirk. When she fumbled over her words, he thoughtfully continued, “Pretty sure, last thing I heard, Lyra said you’d be starting university this year. In England.”

“Change of plans,” Jyn avoided eye contact with her godfather; shrugging uncomfortably under his scrutiny. She hadn’t factored in the possibility of Saw turning her away – and going backwards was impossible. All momentum decreed that Jyn stay the course. “ – Don’t suppose there are any openings in your band?”

Saw released a choked laugh; lighting up the end of a thin cigarette. He inhaled slowly but deeply as he considered her question.

“I play a mean guitar,” Jyn volunteered in this spontaneous job interview. “And sing. I can play bass – not so great on keyboard, though. But I’m willing to try. I’ll try anything to stay.” 

Saw said nothing. Just exhaled puffs of smoke into the still air – the smell particularly pungent. Not tobacco, Jyn realized. She sank to her knees; flipping open her guitar case with the desperate plea, “Just let me play you something! You haven’t heard me play since –“

“Since you were fourteen,” guessed Saw as he helped Jyn back to her feet. “Let me see them –” He held his own hands outward; displaying the blistered pads of skin. Visible proof of decades of commitment to the craft. With palms upward, he directed Jyn to do the same.

“Nice calluses,” he praised with a whistle. “You’ve found time to practice.”

“Girl schools,” Jyn replied warmly; taking great pride in her roughened hands. “Not as many bands as the coed ones. Lots of opportunities for gigs!”

He smiled at her; rubbing the callused hands fondly against his own, “And what do you play? Or are you a composer like your daddy?”

“Nah -,” Jyn stepped back; shaking her head. “Not yet, anyway. Just covers. All anyone wanted to hear last time was anything by the Beatles. And they sang along too loudly. I got bored and started changing the lyrics towards the end. No one noticed or cared. ”

He laughed at that, “And you can jam, right? Like your daddy and I used to when I’d visit? Long improv sessions: that’s the future for my sound. Dig?”

Jyn jetted her chin upward; back straightening to appear taller as she promised, “I can jam!”

Saw took another drag as he thought, “Understand the pay’s lousy,” he started. “And you’ll be responsible for all the grunt work – loading and unloading the gear; making sure everything’s arrived and my guitars are ready before shows –“

“So I’m in,” Jyn interrupted hopefully; feeling impatient for final clarification. 

Saw nodded, “The label has us headlining their touring circus starting next week. Corporate bullshit to blackmail popular acts to perform and draw attention to any new talent they’ve signed. We’ll be stunted musically for months– but great exposure! Especially for any new musician,” he winked at her playfully.

Jyn nodded rapidly; loading her suitcase and guitar into the van before Saw changed his mind. When Baze entered the alley again, lugging amps and gear, Jyn rushed forward to assist; smiling when she heard Saw introduce her again.

This time not as Galen Erso’s daughter but as, “Jyn – our new guitarist.”

Baze grunted a greeting before heading back inside.

Jyn was so intent on doing her new job well, she didn’t hear Saw ask the most vital question the first time. He had to repeat, “And your momma is okay with this, right?”

“Sure,” Jyn gritted her teeth; attempting to lift the heavier amp into their van. It occurred to her, should she prove herself indispensible to Saw, there was no way he’d turn her out when he discovered Lyra Erso was in no way ‘okay’ with this development. Saw didn’t even have to ask about Jyn’s papa. Galen Erso had made his feelings about welcoming another musician into the family abundantly clear. Where Lyra Erso would be marching Jyn right back through the illustrious gates of collegiate hell, Galen Erso would be dusting off his saxophone case and jumping on the first flight to join the band!

Saw eyed her suspiciously; like studying her long enough would allow for any bluffs he’d easily recognize in her parents’ mannerisms to become visible in their offspring. In the end, Jyn wasn’t entirely sure Saw bought her poker-face. But he did not turn her away; throwing her back across the Atlantic to face her parents disgraced. For the first time in months Jyn slept deeply, nestled in the van between Saw and Baze as they drove to met the touring circuit in Boston.

 

* * *

 

She was sitting outside Saw’s dressing room; intently restringing Saw’s spare guitar after an exhilarating sound-check. Jyn could hear Saw’s voice behind her; muttering something incoherent through the door. Jyn assumed he was doing some pre-performance ritual and started to tune the instrument; playing and repeating a rapid blues chord in practice. Her directions for the night simple: anchor the rest of the band. Be the undercurrent of the original rhythm so the rest of the band, after jamming, have a center to return to. 

And then she heard Saw exclaim, “She’s working through something, Lyra. Just give her time –“

Rationality dictated that there were thousands of Lyras in this world. In decades of traveling the world, Saw could easily have met more than one. But the back of her neck prickled to attention. She wasn’t shocked when the door opened and Saw motioned her inside. Jyn plucked a spare guitar string out of her mouth – straightening the skirt of a simple black dress before ducking inside. She gulped when she noticed a yellow rotary phone sitting on the table; left purposely off the hook and waiting –

“Come on, man,” Jyn begged; wondering if she could still excuse herself from this scene. Far away from actually having to deal with things besides the easy repetition of the blues chord.

But a firm hand settled on her shoulder; drawing her to the phone.

“No one, on this entire green earth, will ever scare the living hell out of me like your momma,” he muttered sympathetically. “And she’s also one of my greatest friends. Talk to her.”

Jyn glared at her mentor; crossing her arms and searching for an escape route. The phone was pressed into her hand. Saw sat in a stool by the door; a formidable blockade.

Jyn huffed, moving to the far side of the small space. Pressing the phone to her shoulder, Jyn grunted into the receiver, “Mum –“ 

“Am I to understand your time at St. Mary’s has ended,” a smooth voice echoed through the trans-Atlantic line. It made everything tougher, Jyn lamented. That mommy had chosen to be rational about her punishment. No one beat Lyra Erso when it came to calm, crippling, common-sense. Jyn would have much preferred a screaming match to this.

The direct approach always left Jyn feeling six again; she kicked her stiff heels against the wall indignantly, “So my sudden diligence at attending the library has caught up with me?”

“A month,” Lyra Erso breathed into the phone. “You’ve been out of school an entire month and have had Leia Organa lie for you –“

Jyn chanced, “Shows a devious streak in Leia, doesn’t it?” 

“I suppose this isn’t just some right of passage,” continued Lyra. “I spent two weeks in Paris and my parents never figured out I’d escaped boarding school in the first place.”

“Nope,” Jyn sighed; sliding against the wall. “This isn’t just some Parisian holiday.”

Silence followed. Jyn felt – even miles away – that her mother and herself were mirroring each other; pressed into a corner and thinking of their newest attack method. Whoever spoke next, instinctively, showed the first signs of weakness. Jyn chewed on her bottom lip to prevent any sound from being uttered. 

“Stop smirking, Galen,” Lyra finally hissed in defeat. Jyn could almost imagine her parents in that moment; stacked in the hallway around the telephone. Mom’s hand covering the receiver in a failed attempt to block-out Galen’s intrusion.

“Hey, papa,” Jyn greeted cheerfully.

“Very proud of you, kid!”

“We’re not supporting this,” Lyra directed to her husband. In a firm voice, she informed Jyn, “There’s a flight to London leaving at midnight. We’ll pick you up at the airport. You will come home, get your bearings again, and we’ll try another school… somewhere else in the autumn. Or I can talk to the Dean at St. Mary’s. Explain this as some youthful mishap. You’d probably be welcomed back with just a slap on the wrist. Maybe academic probation—”

“I …” Jyn’s brow wrinkled in thought; her fingers drumming against the wall before she declared, “I won’t be on that flight, mum. Things are happening here. Everything’s changing. And I didn’t want to be locked away for the next few years to wake up and find it’s changed without me!”

“You’re upset,” her mother observed. “You’re not thinking clearly.”

“I’m more than upset,” Jyn spat into the phone. “I’m pissed off!” 

Galen’s voiced peeped into the conversation again; a light interruption as he cautioned Jyn simply with, “Language.”

“And why should I watch my goddamn language,” she countered furious. “Nothing means anything to me anymore. Just this. I don’t understand why I should even attempt being a ‘good person’ when it feels like a bloody ruse to imprison me in a life I never wanted –“

“Kiddo, what you’re describing sounds like an existential crisis. We’ve all been there. It’s part of the artist’s life. Mine was a year spent in Smogen working on a fishing boat. Your mother’s was two weeks living as the muse for some conceptual sculptor in Paris –“

Lyra groaned, “Which we agreed to never discuss again,” she muttered stiffly; Jyn imagined her attempting to cover the side-conversation again. “ – especially not with Jyn.”

“It doesn’t matter if this is just some existential crisis,” Jyn spoke up over her parents’ discussion of the many men Lyra had proven a muse for in the past. “It’s my decision: Good or Bad. I choose to stay here and make music with Saw –“

The man himself spoke up; screaming towards the phone across the tiny space, “And I’ll be watching out for her!”

“See,” Jyn huffed. “Did you hear Saw? He’s watching out for me!”

Lyra still entreated, “I don’t like this… “

“Good,” answered Jyn huffing. With relish, she smashed the phone back on its stand.

Saw watched her nervously, “It was going to happen at some point. Better to put it all out there so everyone can move on.”

Jyn bit back a retort as she marched for the door; seething anger battled with guilt. Maybe Lyra was right –

“Get it out of your system,” Saw called after her as she left the dressing room. “You’ll be closing with me in an hour!” 

The tension in her fingers reverberated throughout her body. Jyn paced; deciding it was nervous energy. Just nerves. But she couldn’t shake this feeling of doubt. It was a new sensation – this realization that she set the pace of her own destiny. She made decisions. And, however thrilling that first appeared, Jyn couldn’t help but question herself now. An easily defined path still lay within reach: go back to Cambridge. Follow a path of single-minded absolute. Finish an education. Bide her time before being unleashed into the real world. And real stakes.

Cold feet, Jyn excused with a shake of her head. It was just cold feet. She heard the dull thudding of a kick-drum and followed it down the narrow hallway; standing in the wing and listening to the current act perform. An ethereal redhead swayed in the center of stage; a long sparkling gown bathed in blue light as the bass line slowed tempo.

“ _You don’t own me_ ,” the woman sang. “ _Don’t try to change me in anyway. You don’t own me; don’t tie me down ‘cause I’ll never stay_ —“

  
The song started as a light tease between lovers; breathy and alluring. The singer smiling mischievously to everyone in the audience. Jyn herself felt in on some great joke. But then the singer’s smile faltered. As the band picked up the tempo, the singer began to wail her finish,

 

“ _I don’t tell you what to say—_  
_I don’t tell you what to do_  
_So just let me be myself,  
__That’s all I ask of you!”_

Jyn hated to admit being captivated in that moment; watching the red bouffant of the pop singer bob across the stage as she ripped this fictional lover to shreds. Had Jyn not been so fixated, she might have noticed the tall figure joining her in the shadows; turning to view the stage for a moment before his eyes returned to watch Jyn’s face; biting back a smile at the younger woman’s fascination with the show.

She jumped in surprise when an accented voice whispered next to her, “Big fan, huh?”

Averting her eyes from the stage, Jyn shook her head, “Not really my kind of music.” 

He nudged her shoulder; lowering a clean-shaven face and whispering against her ear, “But it’s not really about the music – not when Mona sings. Look at her eyes. She’s able to lock eyes with the entire audience in one glance. You really feel like she’s talking just to you. Mona is a master storyteller when she sings.” 

Jyn didn’t answer directly; her attention again on the singer – Mona – asserting,

 

“ _I’m young and I love to be young,_  
_I’m free and I love to be free_  
_To live my life the way that I want_  
_To say and do whatever I please –“_

 

The final chords ticked the conclusion; Mona with a triumphant smile gazed into the audience before declaring one final time, “- _Cause you don’t own me!_ ”

Applause erupted at the end of Mona’s number. She elegantly bowed; blowing kisses as she swept across the stage – exiting to the opposite wing.

“Well,” the man asked; clapping along with the audience and Jyn.

“She’s good,” Jyn remarked vaguely. The cocking of his eyebrow indicated he wasn’t content with her answer. “Fine – ‘Masterful’. I don’t even need to hear this sorry bastard’s side of the story. Mona wins! I’m a rabid fan now – and will be struggling not to make her very uncomfortable when I beg for her autograph later on. There. Satisfied?”

He smiled around a cigarette, nodding as he adjusted his tie – a bright golden suit sparking as the lights rearranged on stage, “You cannot make her more uncomfortable than I did a week ago. Practically jumped her when she finished; declared her a true genius. Mona was classy as hell about it; even patted my head as she walked by. But now her entourage won’t let me within ten feet of her.” 

“AHhh -,” Jyn feigned sympathy for the guy; rolling her eyes as he continued to groom himself. She finally declared, “Shit, you look fine. Ease off! You’re making me nervous again just watching you—”

“Sorry,” he muttered; clenching his fists and rolling his shoulders – still obviously prepping for a performance.

Jyn sighed, “It’s music. Not a death march.” 

“Music. Not a death march,” he repeated tensely.

“Worse case scenario: they boo you off stage and you’re thrown out of this tour a disgrace,” somehow it helped Jyn to voice this out loud; she felt her own reservations receding as she baited this man.

He gulped; stilling his movements before remarking, “How sweet of you to bring that up.”

“Just saying,” shrugged Jyn; fighting to not smirk as the man continued to squirm under her gaze. “Or it could be amazing. Everyone cheers your name. You go down in history as a music legend and so many strange men begin jumping you backstage declaring you pure ‘genius’ that you are forced to hire bodyguards.”

The man seemed to be pondering this outcome before stating, “Doubtful. Very doubtful.”

“Or it could just be a mediocre set. Not good. Not bad. No one really recalls your name or songs – but not bad enough to live on in infamy and be talked about afterwards.”

“You’re really bad at this,” replied the man with a groan; puffing on his cigarette to avoid adjusting his tie again. “If you think you’re helping, please realize you’re bad at this. Really bad.”

Jyn grinned up at him; feeling almost predatory when he visibly gulped again, “But I feel great now,” she plucked his cigarette out of his lopsided mouth; taking a long drag before reminding the man, “You won’t be needing this.” She turned on her heels; placing the cigarette between her teeth and headed for the dressing rooms.

“… You could have just asked,” he called weakly from behind her.

She resisted the urge to immediately glance back and confirm that he was watching her leave; pivoting only in time to hear the M.C. present, “THE REBELS!” She did watch as the man adjusted his jacket once more before racing onto the stage.

 

* * *

 

 

It wasn’t at all like she was intrigued by ‘the Rebels’ – or their music. Or any one band member. In such a vast touring group, it should have been easy to avoid the pop trio altogether. But Jyn didn’t. It really wasn’t her fault that people tended to talk freely around her. Maybe it was her youth – or being shorter than everyone else in sight. Childlike innocence, perhaps? If you’ve yet to hear her curse like a particularly raunchy sailor. Something about her person nullified her natural scowl and made her seem approachable. The first member she officially met was Bodhi Rook – the baritone/bass vocals. She was sitting on an amp backstage; plucking an experimental beat – _da, da, da, du-da, da-dah ahhhhhhhh_ – when someone thursted a copy of the recent billboard chart under her nose.

She glanced up, and all annoyance vanished when she saw the excitement etched in Bodhi’s face.

“We’re charting,” he stammered; a shaking finger pointing to the #89 slot: ‘ ** _Come a Little Bit Closer_** ’ by the Rebels. Jyn hadn’t the heart to tell him she’d never heard this song – or listened to his group perform even. But could sincerely congratulate Bodhi feeling second-hand excitement as he hopped gleefully in front of her.

”You too,” exclaimed Bodhi after awhile – pointing now higher up the list where Saw’s ‘ ** _House of the Rising Sun_** ’ rested near the top ten. Jyn hadn’t the heart to break the news to Bodhi that it wasn’t her success. Saw and the band had recorded that track months before she’d landed in America.

But she liked Bodhi instantly. Quickly recognizing an innocent spirit she’d do anything to protect. She liked Bodhi Rook almost as assuredly as the second member she officially met was an instant pain in her ass. 

It had been a long day of traveling across states; crammed between Kes Dameron and Baze in a roasting bus with the other musicians growing more stir-crazy every hour. She’d been attempting to sleep but kept being jostled back awake; feeling the need to supply at least one-word responses as Kes read Allen Ginsberg’s HOWL to her again,

“I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked, dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix, Angel-headed hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night – “

Forty-eight hours of no sleep was hardly a big deal for traveling musicians. But Jyn felt antsy – like she was being watched earnestly from across the bus. She lowered her sunglasses; looking around frantically. 

“The Rebels were staring,” Baze muttered to her silent concern.

Jyn lowered her shades again; snuggling closer to Baze’s shoulder declaring, “You make a great pillow.”

Baze pressed, “Should I call them out?”

“Nah,” Jyn assured him. “They’re probably just watching Mona in the back. We’re all crazy for Mona.”

“They weren’t,” Baze replied stiffly; but Jyn was too exhausted to care – and Kes cleared his throat before his reading continued. 

By 2 a.m. they were nearing the end of a long run-through of the show in a renovated Victorian theatre. And Jyn was seated at the newly added bar scene; knocking back her fifth cup of coffee in a sorry attempt to energize. The coffee was cold and bitter down her throat; forcing Jyn to bar her teeth to keep the caffeine down.

A tight cough sounded behind her; but Jyn didn’t turn. Just kept doodling on a napkin and waiting to be called on stage. 

“My – is this seat taken?”

Jyn eyed the newcomer suspiciously; leaving the question hanging in the air long enough she’d assumed the lanky singer would turn around and head back his merry way. He didn’t. Kay Tulridge was one of her countrymen; an Englishman with such polish that Jyn sincerely doubted every crisp syllable he uttered. And she also doubted the wide-rim glasses that Kay seemed to always be pushing back up the ridge of his long nose.

When she made no answer, the ginger man just coughed awkwardly again; motioning to the small section of bar next to her.

“It’s a free country,” Jyn finally answered. “At least it was last time I checked.”

“I’ve been sent on a mission,” the man informed her dryly taking a seat. He leaned over the bar; helping himself to a warm beer from the other side. Kay popped the beer open with a finesse not learned in the prep schools of Britain. Jyn filed the movement away as further evidence of a dock-worker background. She was tempted – oh, so tempted – to see if she could awake flourishes of cockney if she provoked Kay enough.

“From God,” Jyn asked sarcastically. 

“ – no. It’s a mission I’d prefer not doing. However, I lost the coin-toss with Bodhi so here we are.”

Jyn cleared her throat, “It’s been a long day. Why don’t you just turn around and walk away before I –“

“I’ve been sent to inquirer about your ‘situation’.”

Jyn waited for an explanation but the man seemed to think that more than sufficed.

“By ‘situation’ are you asking what I’m doing here? …Waiting to play music?”

“If only,” the ginger-haired man groaned deeply annoyed. “I believe this is where I ask after partners – romantic past. Sexual liaisons that are currently—”

Jyn paled; crossing her arms around herself defensively, “Are you stoned?”

“Unfortunately: no,” Kay lamented; taking a long sip of his beer – a soft slurping noise another dead giveaway to a less prestigious past than he marketed for himself. “If I were, this whole mess might be much more amusing for me.”

Jyn wrinkled her nose, billowing in the man’s direction, “I’m clearly not going to be answering –“ She started offended – but then Kay’s previous words registered. They’d flipped a coin for her. She was disgusted, almost choking out, “So the coin-toss was about who gets to shag me? Or at least attempt to!” 

“No,” Kay looked behind his shoulder. “And for the record: gross. Not my type –“ 

“Your accent is slipping,” accused Jyn falsely; knowing that statement would bother him greater than anything else in this moment. Kay’s nostrils flared but he made no direct response to her; sipping more beer and calming himself a bit.

“The coin-toss was for who had to come over here and ask about your ‘situation’,” the tenor defended himself. “And I would have much preferred heading back to my hotel room than having to ask about your love life, quite frankly.”

“And why is my love life a topic of interest,” Jyn demanded; knocking her shades up to the top of her head so Kay would be sure to see the intensity of her glare through matted bangs. “Are the Rebels so bored –“

“Aren’t we all at this point,” interrupted Kay tiredly; glancing over his shoulder again.

“Hey,” Jyn snapped her fingers in front of his face. “You don’t get to play aloof when you’re the one harassing me –“

Kay snapped his fingers right back at her, “I’m putting you down as single.” 

“I don’t care!”

“So I can send Cassian over here then,” Kay nodded over his shoulder. “Get this over with –“ 

Her brain muddled for a response. Because she knew THAT name – on the off chance she might have stumbled across that detail in the stage log the morning after listening to Mona’s song with him. Kay, Cassian, and Bodhi – the Rebels. _Cassian Andor_. A dark shadow fell over the bar. For a moment, Jyn’s pulse quickened thinking Cassian had joined the fray. But fate had Baze standing over her instead; declaring, “Saw’s out cold.”

Jyn rose to her feet; motioning Baze away from the bar for a moment of privacy.

“He can’t be. We have sound check in –“ 

Baze shook his head, “Not with Saw.”

Even as a child, she’d understood that Saw had his demons. It was what made him such a powerful force when he performed; sucking some mystical energy out of the cosmos. But the demons were also the reason her papa had to stop touring with Saw decades prior. And why Saw wasn’t allowed at their house for holidays and birthdays for long periods of time growing up. Jyn could vaguely recall hearing her parents discussing Saw ‘getting clean again.’ Neither sounding too hopeful.

Jyn bit her bottom lip; terrified but having to ask, “Do we need to call an ambulance?”

Baze shook his head again. “Not this time.”

Jyn took on the role of leadership; trying to sound unperturbed, “We’ll play on tonight without him. And, in the morning, we’ll flush everything he’s got left –“ 

Baze looked at her sternly, “You don’t understand relapse, little sister. It’d be crazier to make him go cold turkey.”

Jyn huffed, “So you think we should just keep allowing him to get wasted? Keep slowly killing himself?”

“Wean him off gradually,” muttered Baze; raising an eyebrow behind her – Kay had been attempting to eavesdrop on their conversation. Jyn glared again at the ginger before pulling Baze further away.

“We’re fucked, aren’t we,” Jyn implored the older musician out of the corner of her mouth.

“Completely fucked,” agreed Baze. “But ‘the Saw Gerrera Experiment’ is under contract to finish out this tour. What – two more months? We can do this.”

Jyn bitterly laughed, “Do you, Kes, and I even count as ‘the Saw Gerrera Experiment’ minus the man himself?”

“It’s all semantics,” Baze promised her as they headed for the stage. Jyn tried not to listen when she heard Kay’s mocking voice calling after her, 

“Well the ‘situation’ is she’s single. And with good reason.”

Jyn saw something shiny approaching from the corner of her vision and quickly lowered her sunglasses to block it out. Shiny and blue became muted black beneath her shades. Even in a rough curtain-call, the Rebels had been dressed to the nines in their matching blue suits. A hyper-awareness told her that Cassian Andor had always been around; watching his band mate and her’s pained conversation. Supposedly waiting to hear the outcome. Understandably, she was pissy at the moment. Nervous about taking the stage and afraid of being informed she, Baze, and Kes certainly didn’t amount to any type of musical ‘experiment’. Even for a rehearsal. And in this state, Jyn didn’t owe Cassian Andor’s spineless come-on any response at all. If that was even his intent in the first place.

Guitar pick between her teeth, Jyn waited off stage as it was cleared. She was fidgeting; stretching out her fingers and retracting into a fist. Then sweeping her fingers through her bangs to flatten the mess she knew lurked there. She repeated the nervous dance again; watching Kes step behind a keyboard and Baze issue a testing ‘thump’ against his kick-drum. Guitar-strap slid over her torso, and Jyn heard a playful voice whispering into her ear, “Shit, you look fine.” 

Not entirely sure she liked how readable Cassian Andor found her in that moment, Jyn continued ignoring him. Taking on a resolute role of bluffed confidence when she stepped towards the mic. She teased the sound crew, “Just pretend I’m Saw.”

Directed behind her, Jyn squeaked, “House of the Rising Sun,” lacking the authority of a command from the front man. Just a question. She might as well have asked, ‘ _Please, if you would so oblige me…._ ’ She was fortunate to be dealing with two non-egos. Just Kes and Baze. Kes began the slow hypnotic rhythm. Baze’s sticks followed; ticking away on cymbals. It took Jyn awhile to realizes she was still playing the bass-line of the song, following Kes’s beat too closely as she started singing, “ _There is a house in New Orleans – They call the Rising Sun. And it’s been the ruin of many a poor boy… And God, I know I’m one_.”

Jyn tried not to dwell on how tight her throat sounded – or how inorganic this story rang out from the lips of a young, white, British girl. As opposed to Saw: a man who’d known true hardship in the American south. She started strumming Saw’s chords; mimicking. That’s all it felt like: mimicking. Until she started play acting; imagining herself into the role. Jyn wasn’t vain enough to claim the rehearsal a masterful rendition. Or that she’d instantly transitioned into a Rock-God somewhere during that performance. But she began to relax; even enjoying herself as she sang. Swaying to the mesmerizing groove Kes and Baze helped her create, Jyn delivered the warning in a desperate plea,

_“Oh mothers – tell your children_  
_Not to do what I have done_  
_To spend their lives in sin and misery_  
_In the House of the Rising Sun!”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music References/ Playlist for this chapter: 
> 
> ‘You Don’t Own Me’ by Lesley Gore 
> 
> ‘Come A Little Bit Closer’ by Jay & the Americans 
> 
> ‘House of the Rising Sun’ by the Animal


	2. 1964 - Rehearsal

During a rainy afternoon in Cincinnati, Ohio, Jyn slinked backstage; dodging behind sets and equipment as she sought the dressing rooms – only to be caught be a stage manager running on his last fuse after dealing with the touring company’s special brand of chaos for the past eight hours.

He cleared his throat, grimly telling her, “One of the Rebels’ is looking for you.”

Jyn was almost intrigued until it dawned on her that there were three possible Rebels the stage manager could be talking about. Eyes scanning the faces around them, Jyn sank deeper into the shadows of the curtain before urging, “And how would you describe this Rebel?”

“Look, miss. It’s not in my job description –“

Jyn nodded, “Understood. But, real fast: think of the Beatles. Which Beatle would this guy be? George? John? Paul? … the drummer?”

“Not sure,” he replied; flipping through his clipboard packed with paperwork about a dozen different acts performing tomorrow night. “And don’t care.”

Jyn desperately entreated, “Word association: First three words that come to mind after speaking with this specific male.”

Unrolling a long stick of chewing gum, the stage manager submitted, “Over-bearing. Weird. _English_.” 

Jyn visibly tensed; a frown growing as she released a huff. She wasn’t entirely sure what she’d expected but a part of her felt disappointed with this news. It was just Kay. And whatever brand of crazy he wanted to inflict next. Despite her best efforts, Jyn continued to register on Kay’s radar; deeming her privy to his each and every blunt observation. Little critiques; things that, had they been voiced by any other person (with an ounce of human frailty), Jyn might have passed off as protectiveness. But the constant jeers over her guitar playing, packing abilities, hemline length, wearing sunglasses indoors, and the expanding purple shadows under her eyes because she’d chosen to go with Kes to some jazz club after a show… instead of resting properly! … Kay might have been the mother hen type. If, in this story, the mother hen has gone senile and smothered all her chicks in their shells.

“I’m not here,” retorted Jyn as she slid behind a nearby clothing rake. “Not here. And I’m not me.” 

“He was very insistent that I lookout for Jyn Erso –,” the man vaguely waved a hand in her retreating direction; flipping through his notes and ready to move on to actual responsibilities instead of playing messenger. “… can I tell him you’ll be around?” 

“No,” Jyn urged the bystander. “I’m not Jyn Erso! And you can tell him to sod off –“

She bumped into a bony back. Grimacing in discomfort, Jyn slowly turned; staring up into the disapproving eyes of Kay.

“Very mature,” Kay remarked; pulling her away from all escape routes, “If you can act like a semi-professional for a moment, we do have business to discuss.”

Jyn crossed her arms over her chest; forming a defensive stance as she informed Kay, “I don’t conduct business on behalf of _the Saw Gerrera Experiment_ –“

“And your drummer claims Saw under the weather,” sneered Kay. “Again. Shocking!”

Jyn scowled at Kay’s baiting; flinging back, “To perform, at the level Saw does, can prove draining to musicians that do more than wave their choreographed hips about; snapping their fingers and clapping their hands as they sing backup about some girl dancing with the wrong fella at the big dance! Oh—the agony!”

“I told Cassian you were lying about not knowing our songs,” accused Kay; pushing his glasses up his nose. “And we do play our own instruments in the studio! But the label agreed it was more streamline for performances to –“

“I don’t care! And I don’t know your songs,” Jyn averted her gaze. Unwilling to admit she couldn’t bring herself to change the dial on the radio when the DJ announced they had ‘ _another by the Rebels’._ It was out of an unobserved politeness; not turning the channel when you knew the group getting airtime. And the Rebels were getting considerable play on the radio in recent months. 

Envy was not always something Jyn wore well, however. Putting on a convincing glower, Jyn taunted Kay, “I took a wild guess at the difficult social issues three squeaky- clean blokes could inflict on the radio. Were you lot trying to be ironic with the whole ‘Rebels’ name? I like to imagine it delivered with upmost sarcasm. _THE REBELS_ : when they take you out for vanilla ice creams, you’ll be back by 8 PM on the dot. _THE REBELS_ : a parents fantasy come true – ”

“Marketing,” mumbled Kay under his breath. “And parents do buy records too!” Puffing out his chest and pushing his glasses back up his nose again – prolonged glaring downward at Jyn only heightened this nervous habit in him, Kay spat, “I spoke with our manager today on the phone. A Mr. Draven –“ Kay paused here; as if that name should carry some weight for Jyn – it did not. “Under our contract for this tour, we are not opening for the ‘Jyn Erso Band’. Because Jyn Erso has no contract or legal agreement with Alliance Records. Or any other label. Therefore, the Rebels will not be your opening act from this venue onward. In the event Saw Gerrera is incapable of taking the stage (which is happening far too often these days and is highly unprofessional) we will be performing at the headliner timeslot and, if necessary, _you_ will be opening for us –”

“I will admit,” Jyn interrupted; tempering a bitter insult with a calm front. If she had to handle the business-side of things tonight, might as well act the part. “I’ve been filling in for Saw occasionally… he caught the flu in Indianapolis and –“ 

“He’s a dope fiend,” Kay checked himself at those words; blinking rapidly at his own harshness before proceeding at a lower volume, “… it’s the worst kept secret of the music industry. Saw Gerrera and his smack.”

“And look at you,” Jyn stepped forward; digging her index finger into his chest, “An opportunist leveraging for your own gains.”

Kay seemed undeterred by her attempts in instill some level of remorse in him; replying simply, “It would be foolish not to.” 

Shaking her head in disbelief, Jyn stepped back, proclaiming, “Whatever you need to tell yourselves to sleep at night.” 

Kay was confused now, “I sleep remarkably well, thank you. I always bring my own pillow when I travel and … if we didn’t use this, someone less talented would. We deserve the greater exposure. We’ve worked for it; bidding our time –”

Jyn walked away; ignoring Kay’s ramblings about the possibility of Saw not performing tomorrow night – and whether that should affect tonight’s run-through lineups. She headed towards Saw’s dressing room but heard the now too familiar sounds of her mentor vomiting into a trashcan. Followed by Baze’s voice comforting from within. For a few hours, Jyn did not want to deal with being Saw’s enabler… pretending this was a normal level of existence for any true artist. She felt less guilty walking away knowing Baze was inside. And Baze knew how to handle this mess.

She headed for the empty theatre’s balcony instead; collapsing into a velvet seat and reclining her feet over the railing as she studied the ceiling and listened to the noise of instruments tuning and sound adjustments from the stage. The miffed echoes of the stage manager ushering directions blended into the collective discord… the combination left Jyn feeling at peace. The chaos of pre-show was becoming almost homey.

Jyn wasn’t entirely sure how she’d been located. But had heard the clinking of dress shoes following her upstairs. She’d assumed the person was heading for the front of the theatre – breaking away long before Jyn started to climb the steep stairwell to the balcony. Now, she heard the shoes again; beating in a steady rhythm. Approaching her. Unhurried. Calm.

And then the flicker of a sparkling jacket caught her eye. When she indignantly looked to her left, Cassian was moving through the row; tonight in a blindingly emerald suit; millions of sewn-in sequins blazing under the house-lights.  
  
“You’re looking especially shiny tonight,” mumbled Jyn as he approached.  
  
With a dramatic spin in her honor, Cassian showed-off the elaborate suit in the aisle; panting slightly when he lowered into the seat next to her perch. There was a relaxed silence that followed; Jyn leaned backward in her seat to regard the ceiling again, breathing out in a sigh, “Kay is an absolute ass.”  
  
Cassian replied evenly, “It’s not personal.“  
  
“So you knew about this,” spat Jyn in frustration. “… both of you: top level assholes.”

“It’s nothing against you –“ 

“But it is,” Jyn reasoned aloud. “If it affects my band – and going after Saw like that –“ 

“Kay promised us he wouldn’t bring up the heroin.”

“Of course he was going to bring up the heroin,” rasped Jyn; folding her arms around her – unintentionally hitting Cassian with her elbow. “He loved bringing it up – … so absolutely everyone knows? And all the hours I thought I was being so very clever helping Baze hide it all away --“

“Not sure ‘everyone knows’. We know…,” Jyn turned to meet Cassian’s gaze there; noting he seemed to deliver this comment as a relief: only _THEY_ knew. And, despite Kay’s natural impulse to exploit this crisis, Cassian seemed to believe she should feel comfortable now; that she should trust them. His tongue darted forth, wetting his lips before he admitted, “Kay overheard something; you and Baze talking about –”

“And kept that information as collateral for when the opportunity arose,” Jyn stammered with her next words: “And you’re seriously going along with it?”

Cassian cleared his throat awkwardly; deliberately remarking instead, “We are all rooting for Saw to get better. To get some help.”

Jyn felt like she’d been slapped, “I’m helping him!”

“I meant rehab, Jyn. People who deal with this long-term and aren’t just winging it.”

This Jyn understood; having witnessed her own parents’ try and fail to help Saw over the past decade. It was childish to assume she alone could make the difference in Saw’s sobriety where all other Ersos failed. But the addition of Baze; and his calm assurances that they could make this work for the remaining tour helped her resolve. 

But of all the excuses Jyn had come up with; all the times she and Baze had agreed that the tour must continue (for the contract and Saw’s prestige to remain intact), Jyn did question her own selfish motives. After all, where would she go if Saw went to rehab? Return to England with her tail between her legs? Pray that she could find a place with another band? Kay had excused his actions as gaining exposure for the Rebels, and Jyn recognized the same function in her own actions: exposure like this didn’t come to many young artists. Maybe they all were inherently ruthless if the right opportunity presented itself? 

Peeved with this realization; Jyn defiantly declared, “Probably the best things I’ve ever accomplished are just from winging it.” 

Cassian was quiet for awhile; pensive before repeating, “He needs to get professional help. And be somewhere where drugs aren’t being handed out left and right –“ to illustrate his point; Cassian rummaged through his jacket’s inner pocket – pulling out an expertly rolled joint and raising an eyebrow at her in silent question.  
  
Jyn sighed heavily, “Light it up!”  
  
Cassian’s legs extended to drape next to her own on the railing; leaning back and puffing a trail of smoke rapidly into the air. When his lighter lowered, the end glistening orange embers, he passed her the joint; holding in a deep breath before releasing it towards the stage.  
  
“We are all bloody hypocrites,” Jyn observed; taking a long drag and distressingly coughing from the hit. “That shit’s strong!” 

The corners of his lips stretched upward when she passed the joint back, Cassian said, “I save it for special occasions.”  
  
“This constitutes a special occasion?”  
  
“… I have no life. Special occasions, for me, are just about anything out of the ordinary. Can also mean nights where Kay is especially annoying – or I’m wearing a new variety of extraneous, shiny, suit that I’m pretty confident I’ll be paying off in installments for the next five years.”

Jyn hid a laugh when she received the joint again; taking a smaller drag but holding it longer within her lungs.  
  
“I’m being serious,” Cassian insisted. “From day one, Kay’s handled our business dealings. Not entirely sure what he’s negotiated with Alliance Records. Or what I ended up signing. But I’m starting to suspect I’ll be taking away a whole dime from this tour. All the rest goes towards the suits. So tonight, I’ve broken one of Kay’s commandments: facial hair,” his fingers brushed over a thin layer of dark fuzz sprouting along his chin. “ – It is only a rehearsal. No one but Kay will care.”  
  
“Quite the rebellion for the little rebel,” praised Jyn. Enjoying the ardor of Cassian’s gaze, she wanted to flirt. Continued to wonder if these little interactions counted as ‘flirting’ or just two bored individuals making really bad small talk together. But, instead of flirtatious, her next words came out noncommittal and casual, “So the special occasion wasn’t getting to hang with me? The celebration is really all about your veiled attempts at giving Kay a brain aneurysm.”  
  
“I’ll admit – sharing with you may be an added perk,” answered Cassian evenly. Still not supplying Jyn confirmation over these little exchanges they shared.

There were times it felt like flirting; like they were minutes away from jumping each other and having a go— but then the air cleared; the passion ebbed and one or both parties wavered in response. Cassian Andor could be leering at her with sensuality – only to sidestep into the dignified ‘good boy’ again. Jyn did wonder if he was aware of these looks; of the way his face could contort and egg her on… and she had, of course, wondered if he’d be a fun shag or not. Long bus rides were passed wondering about the sexual potency of any age appropriate male within her reach. 

She decided that Kes was probably a diligent lover: purposeful in his movements. Respectful. And while she couldn’t imagine Kes being necessarily kinky, he would most certainly get the job done. Kay was obviously the sort to lay back and think of England; all for procreation and the Queen! Despite a situation where power play and control appealed to her, Jyn never reverted back to the images of shagging Kay. Bodhi would be fun. Maybe not ‘experimentative’ but zealous. Ardent and present. A lover she’d most likely end up laughing with and never bring up the actual sex again.  
  
Cassian continued to flip-flop in her estimations. At first glance, his body was usually taut – unless onstage. And she had first-hand witnessed the skittish energy of a man usually tightly wound. Too often on the road, Cassian was forced into the position of ‘voice of reason’ – which also failed to bode in his favor. Somehow, serious translated into humorless for Jyn. A killjoy. But he wasn’t. Not really. Quieter, maybe, than the majority of the company. His humor issued in small comments; smirks more prevalent than bursts of laughter. Blink too often, and you’d probably miss Cassian’s humor. And his intent stare. Had Jyn not found herself on the receiving end of those arousing glimmers so often, she might have assumed he was just very invested in late-night, truck-stop, coffee and doughnuts.

“I have an offer for you then,” voiced Jyn; attempting another experiment, “Something that might prove mutually beneficial for us both.”  
  
Cassian leaned forward; eyes locking on her face. A good sign? A flicker of desire reached his brown eyes – but it could have all been wrong, Jyn realized. Maybe the flicker was just the reflection off his jacket.

  
Jyn rapidly changed her course, saying instead, “Let me steal your razor blades.”

  
He seemed confused by Jyn’s request but managed to run a single finger down her cheek; skimming her chin playfully, “Doesn’t feel like you need them.”

“The Kinks use razors,” Jyn explained with a shrug; biting her lip. “They split the speaker cones on their amps to roughen up their sound; to not be as polished. I’ve got an _Elpico_ amp that I’ve been battering around; purposely dropped it last week hoping it would add more fuzz when I played… so far: nope. Was going to take some razors from Kes but he _had_ to start growing that damn goatee… And girls’ razor blades are absolute crap. Cheap plastic that breaks every time I take them to the amp –“ Jyn held up a bandaged hand bitterly, “Slashed myself more than it.”

Cassian breathed in jagged air. Taking her wounded hand, he examined the blistering reddened areas carefully. Jyn hated to break the illusion; to alert the singer that her hands were rarely in much better shape. Maybe less swollen, but never anything delicate or soft. Hands were another tool for guitarists.

  
Jyn, sensing a growing tension as Cassian remained touching her hand, pulled herself free; crossing her arms awkwardly around herself and looking back to the ceiling like it had spurted a leak.

She could feel the fidgeting in the seat next to her. Cassian finally agreed to her taking one razor, “… It would be condescending to tell you to be careful, wouldn’t it?”  
  
“Very,” replied Jyn.  
  
“They are sharp,” Cassian warned nevertheless.  
  
Jyn said, “Which is why I need them. Remember.”  
  
“Don’t suppose you’ve heard our new song yet,” Cassian asked out of the blue; knocking a line of ash off the joint and against his shoes. 

Jyn groaned; feeling trapped in either situation. Deciding to torment him a bit more, Jyn asked, “Refresh my memory: the one about the big dance or the one about racing around in daddy’s fancy car?” 

“The one begging for the love and acceptance of the haughty creature who is unattainable in just about every way possible… and undertones of really liking desserts because Bodhi helped me write it.”

“And, when you explain your song aloud,” Jyn remarked. “… you hear it, don’t you? Just how corny that all sounds?”

  
Cassian sighed heavily, “The world was made for love songs –“

“Sure. I loved that sort of thing,” Jyn admitted bleakly. “Back when I was ten and the highlight of life was attending the father-daughter sock hop –“ 

“Ah –the imperious little girl you must have been. Dressed in a poodle skirt; trotting on your father’s toes,” Cassian said.

“It’s all so ridiculously sweet,” Jyn attempted to explain. She imitated a desperate plea, “Oh, _baby_! Come out tonight! But, _Sweetheart_ , let’s not worry your parents! You’ll be home at a respectable hour. Hymen intact … _OH_! And my world will feel magically complete just by holding your hand!“

“Hold the right hand, Jyn, and you might just feel it too,” he teased. She couldn’t tell if he was flirting or just mocking her supposed arrogance now. 

“Too much sugary sweetness leads to cavities,” she replied with upmost authority. “Learned that at ten as well!”

“Never had that problem,” Cassian opened his mouth wide; showing off his pearly whites. “Not one cavity. Not ever!” 

He held his lips apart for Jyn to inspect herself – forcing a gut laugh past her lips; the tight frown she’d been so intent on holding dissolved into a smile. The absurdity of inspecting this strange singer’s teeth had Jyn doubling over in laughter. 

“Alright, alright,” she yielded. “Perfect teeth! Stop showing off—”

Cassian grinned wildly now, “Music is a lot of things – and it should be. But I always viewed this as my own little cause.”

“The sugary-sweet movement,” asked Jyn.

“Nope,” Cassian shook his head. “Giving a little bit of hope to the world.” 

She laughed again; this time it caused Cassian to scowl in return.

“I’m being serious,” he retorted. “When the world is growing so bleak and filled with despair, that’s when we need silly love songs the most.” 

The mood, if it could even be described as _that_ by this point in their conversation, was interrupted by the mic being tapped on stage; the voice of the stage manager reverberating up to the balcony declaring, “Testing. Testing. All to stage for Rebels set. Testing. 3- 2- 1- “ 

A metallic wheezing followed; the mic had been snatched away, a distressed Kay’s voice sounding frantically from center stage, “Our front man is missing! If anyone sees Cassian Andor, please return him –“  
  
Jyn turned to Cassian; raising an eyebrow before stating, “I think Kay’s worried you’ve been kidnapped.”

“Let him,” Cassian shrugged; scrunching down in the velvet seat and taking another hit off the joint.  
  
Jyn leaned over the balcony; elbows braced on the railing as she surveyed Kay issuing orders from the stage; Bodhi, wide-eyed and highly befuddled, waited in the center now alone.  
  
“Five more minutes,” Jyn guessed with a smirk. “Five more minutes, and Kay will be commissioning your picture to appear on milk cartons –”

“Great publicity for the band,” Cassian observed calmly.  
  
Jyn laughed when Kay seemed to be fighting the stage manager for the mic again, “Ten: and you’ll be reported to the FBI.”

Cassian straightened slightly; looking over Jyn’s shoulder to the stage, “Getting bad, isn’t it?”  
  
“Kay does seem to have the talent for getting under everyone’s skin in the worst possible way,” Jyn noted; Kay now grabbing the mic from Bodhi’s stand and begging all present,  
  
“Five feet, eight inches. Mexican. Brown hair. Brown eyes. Last seen in his dressing room backstage. Will answer to ‘Cass’ but rarely –“  
  
“Actually a very illuminating experience,” whispered Cassian against Jyn’s ear. “ – To know exactly how your nearest and dearest choose to describe you to strangers.”  
  
Jyn nodded agreement before informing him, “But Kay is also alienating the stage manager: the one responsible for your success at this theatre; who’s already done with all of us. I’m just saying, if the sound shorts out – or a mic goes missing tomorrow night because Kay has pushed this guy too far in a twenty-four hours stretch: don’t come crying to me.”  


Forehead creasing in concern, Cassian cupped his hands around his mouth and screamed to the stage, “I’m coming down, Kay!” 

“Cassian—,” the ginger-haired man released a sigh of relief; shielding his eyes from the lights as he searched the balcony for his friend – locking a glare at Jyn as she watched the whole scene with entertained glee. The way the stage manager side-eyed Kay, Jyn felt certain they’d barely missed a fistfight during this rehearsal. She felt Cassian take her hand again; pressing the joint between her fingers before racing down the row to calm the situation before it escalated further.  
  
Alone in the balcony; idly puffing the joint, Jyn waited for Cassian to take the stage. His hand dragged through his hair as he moved to stand between Kay and Bodhi; muttering something to them and than angling to repeat a command to the band behind them.  
  
Jyn listened to the swing of horns; marveled at Kay’s perplexed expression as the strings started to thump a steady beat. Bodhi’s face lite at the chords; swaying with the rhythm and the first of the Rebels to begin snapping his fingers with the song.  
  
And then, Cassian had to plead into the mic, “ _Sugar, ahhhh honey honey–_ “  
  
Jyn froze in her seat; the joint fell from her fingers – “Shit,” she muttered to herself; searching the floor and panicking that she would be responsible for starting a fire. The situation wasn’t made any easier hearing Cassian moan through the speaker system,

  
  
“ _Honey, ahhh sugar sugar_  
You are my candy girl  
And you’ve got me wanting you!”

  
  
Jyn wrinkled her nose at the absolutely disgusting preciousness of the plea. And didn’t want to think about the type of girl who’d inspired this kind of reaction from Cassian or Bodhi… one of Mona’s backup singers did seem have this radiating sweetness… blah!  
  
But it had a steady groove. When Jyn retrieved the joint and sat down again, her leg involuntarily weaved back and forth; thumping along to the bassline. And when Cassian looked up into the balcony, she wondered if she was being teased again tonight.

  
  
“ _OHHH sugar, pour a little sugar on it, honey_  
Pour a little sugar on it, baby!  
I’m gonna make your life so sweet,  
Pour a little sugar on me – oh yeah!  
Pour a little sugar on me –“

 

This reframe was delivered with almost pornographic accuracy. Jyn squirmed in her seat; questioning if he meant to be causing this reaction for the sole audience in the balcony. When he met her stare; tongue wetting his lips for a split second before the finale, Jyn finally admitted to herself: they were flirting. At the very least, skirting around flirting with each other. And she liked it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music References/ Playlist for this chapter:
> 
> 'Sugar, Sugar' by the Archies


	3. 1965 - Time Tripping

Jyn Erso was certain, should she live to the ripe age of eighty-five, 1965 would always live-on in infamy as the year she made terrible life choices. Not that 64’ was by any means a rational, stable, roundabout year in itself. But in 1965, every life-altering decision she made seemed to be piss poor in retrospect.  
  
It had started on a high note. She was in a band— a great band. _The Saw Gerrea Experiment_ was picking up steam. Once the obligation of touring for Alliance Records ended, Saw managed to gain momentum again; performing where he needed to be. Shady smoke-filled nightclubs. Impromptu venues that attracted an audience just by word of mouth; bringing forth honest-to-God music lovers looking for their latest fix.

Saw needed the freedom of deciding when he felt like performing – and the power to design his own set list.

In 1965, Saw was feeling the blues; reworking standards from the American south alongside his newly equipped electric guitar pedals. Some nights were ear-popping disasters. Others roaring successes. Either night, Jyn at least felt on the cusp of something brand new and exhilarating.

As a direct result, singing the blues had Jyn Erso learning how to become a storyteller.

* * *

   
“ _TIME IS ON MY SIDE_ ,” she wailed into the microphone. Fingers plucking out an unusually slow-tempo for the otherwise jiving night.

Jyn felt her sunglasses sliding as she looked down into the audience, smugly assuring them all, “ _OH!_ _—Yes, it is!_ ” 

Her amp crackled and fuzzed after a year of misuse; adding an almost nostalgic quality to the sound – like a distant memory that keeps fading and fading the more it’s thought of. And for Jyn, someone who had assumed inspiring any sort of sentimentality was beyond her, it helped create her narrative; helped to add a quiver of desperation as she urged her nonexistent lover,

 

“ _You’ll come runnin’ back,_  
Yes, you’ll come runnin’ back to me!  
  
Time is on my side, yes it is.  
Time, Time, Time is on my side – yes it is!  
  
You’re searching for good times but just wait and see,  
  
You’ll come runnin’ back  
Yes, You’ll come runnin’ back  
You’ll come runnin’ back to me!”

 

 

Later, Saw would tell her she’d ‘ _done_ _good’_.  
  
“Just ‘good’,” complained Jyn; overly confidant. “What am I missing?”

Saw patted her shoulder as they loaded the van, simply replying, “Time.”  
  
When Jyn rolled her eyes at him, Saw continued, “Get your heart trampled on a couple hundred more times and you’ll be set!”  
  
“So, I’m missing proper angst levels,” Jyn inferred out loud; earning nods of confirmation from both Saw and Baze.  
  
Kes poked his head out of the van to say, “It’s either more angst or more sappiness.” Kes frowned when Baze shook his head at the notion, “Seriously: we’re musicians. It’s going to have to be one extreme or the other –“

“We sing the blues,” Baze informed the keyboardist.  
  
“It’s rock-and-roll,” Saw continued for Baze. “Soul music. And no one really want to hear about your happiness – Soul comes from the pain; of dwelling on how shitty life can get: the great equalizer.”

Both Saw and Baze seemed to feel their responses schooled both young people into what exactly they should be pursuing in life: ANGST.

Jyn took this as a challenge; deciding she needed to live more brazen. And take risks beyond music. So, when Alliance Records flew both Saw and Baze out to Los Angles to renegotiate Saw’s recording contract, Jyn opted for the long car trip Kes had orchestrated for himself. It had been tempting to just buy herself a ticket and fly out with Saw and Baze. However, every other artist her age was working hard for everything they got; and Jyn felt compelled to stay back with Kes and could manage a six day cross-country trip to L.A. An adventure, she imagined. Fodder for thousands of songs –

But now, curled against their suitcases in a backstreet of Baltimore as snow and ice pelted their bones, Jyn regretted not buying both herself and Kes tickets to fly out – maybe even lie and tell him the studio sent two more by mistake.

“Even the equipment got to fly,” Kes complained; angling his jacket to protect his bare neck from the piecing wind.

“My feet are frozen,” Jyn gestured down at her boots.

Kes blew into his hands, “I can’t feel my nose –“

“Is it possible our ride is buried in a snow drift somewhere,” asked Jyn dramatically. “Or we’ve just been forgotten –“ 

“No, they’re coming,” Kes replied vaguely.

Suddenly Jyn was suspicious, “ _THEY?_ ”

“Ride will be here soon,” Kes promised her; stacking his suitcase on top of her own to make a small shelter for them both. “Don’t freak out,” he tacked on without any tact. 

“Can tell I’m not going to like this,” Jyn voiced. “ – seeing as you’re keeping quiet about the ‘ _who with_ ’ element of this trip.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Kes replied. “It’s actually very fortunate for us. They are being called back to L.A. too. The more of us involved, the lower the price of gas –“

“Who,” demanded Jyn; turning to glare at her band mate. 

Kes coughed nervously, “The Rebels –“

“No,” Jyn shook her head; struggling to pull her suitcase out of Kes’ makeshift shelter. “I’m absolutely not –“

“I know something happened with the front man –“

Regrettably, that was untrue. In the end, there had been some ambiguous comments along the lines of 'guess this is the last show' and indefinite reminders that there would be an after-party for the different acts later that night. But Saw was worse at good-byes than Jyn herself; having his band pack up and leave as soon as the final curtain fell.   
  
Jyn attempted to casually assure Kes, “Nothing happened with the front man. Why would you even say that?“

“Kay implied there might have been something,” Kes shrugged. 

“Kay,” Jyn spat out the name like a vile curse. “Kay knows nothing. And he’s the reason I won’t go. What are you even thinking, Kes? Days on the road with that weirdo?“ 

“True,” Kes admitted bleakly. “But I’d sort of like to save my money right now.”  
  
That piqued Jyn’s interest, “Why? I thought beatniks didn’t require worldly things?” 

Kes blushed; masked only by his now prominent goatee, “Money might come in handy in the future.” 

“The folksinger,” Jyn surmised. “Sherry? Cherry? Terri –“

“Shara,” Kes corrected with a grimace at the other names. “Oddly enough, I met up with the Rebels again at her open-mic night. The one you were invited to attend –“

“I was busy,” Jyn quickly pardoned herself; unsure just WHAT she had been doing that night. 

“ _Rams Head_ was full – but there was Bodhi Rook motioning me over…” 

“Typical Bodhi,” Jyn smirked.

Kes continued, “And Cassian was only too willing to have you and I tag along on their roadtrip to California.” 

“Who brought up the roadtrip first,” Jyn’s eyes narrowed into slits; studying Kes skeptically. “Did… did he ask? Ask about anything? Seem concerned about –“ 

Kes laughed; clutching his stomach, “This is almost like my sisters pestering each other over who asked who to go _study_ –“  
  
“Cut the crap, Dameron –“

“You were a topic of discussion,” Kes relented.

“And,” Jyn pressed; nudging his shoe with the tip of her boot.

“And –“ Kes dragged out the word; eyes turning skyward. “…. Maybe, had you come and met Shara like I’d asked you to, you could have been part of that discussion yourself…”

“You’re impossible,” claimed Jyn with a long sigh.  
  
“And you should have come,” Kes noted. “Shara is really looking forward to meeting you.” 

Her tongue was too heavy to argue; eyes watering from gusts of wind as the snowstorm continued around them. Jyn shivered, “I want to scream at you so much right now… but it’s too cold. I’ll just kick you instead, Kes,” and Jyn’s boot weakly met the side of his calf.

“Badass,” praised Kes with a smile. “Jyn Erso: a true badass!”  
  
“If my toes freeze together, do I have to cut them off,” Jyn asked between gritted teeth. “Or do I just live with them as this fused unit and hobble along.”

“Gross,” Kes replied.

“I’m asking the important questions –“

A mint green 1963 Ford Galaxie glided on ice into the alley; headlights blinding Jyn and Kes as they rose to wave down the driver. It was Bodhi they saw first; rolling down the window from the backseat and declaring, “I hear it doesn’t snow in LA. We can spend Christmas on the beach!”

The Rebels functioned highly strategized. Flawless teamwork as Bodhi distracted Jyn by yammering on about going to Disneyland sometime while they were in California, Cassian ejected from the front passenger seat to help Kes load the trunk. Her suitcase seemed to slip out of her grasp on its own accord as Bodhi told her about Tomorrowland; Cassian launching it deep into the trunk with Kes’ things following – blocking her suitcase in. Making a run for it now a slim chance.

Kay lifted himself out of the driver-side door; announcing the car was _his_ and everyone needed to follow specific directions if they were to make it to California in one piece.

“No chewing gum. No cigarettes. No feet on the upholstery. Driver dictates the radio – and I’m the driver, by the way –“

Jyn sighed heavily, “Really? All the way to California? For six days you’ll be—”

“I’ve budgeted for a four day trip,” continued Kay; ignoring Jyn’s eyes rolling back. “In the event I have to sleep, the rotation is Bodhi – then Cassian.”

“You’re not even the second-string driver,” Jyn whispered to Cassian when he returned from behind the car.

Cassian shook his head; admitting with a frown, “My hand-eye coordination was found lacking back at the car park.”  
  
Kay slung himself back into the car; the muffled voices from the radio blaring into the snowy night – and still Jyn hesitated. Especially resistant when Kes moved for a seat in the front and Kay billowed back, 

“The _lady_ will be sitting upfront!”

The unnecessary gallantry only amplified when Cassian rushed to hold the front passenger door open for her; brow lifting cheekily in an unspoken dare. The provocation being: _think you can survive four days of extreme Kay-time_.

Jyn narrowed her eyes at the display; attempting to bump shoulder’s with the man to announce _the game was on_ — but reaching only the top of his ribcage in the hustle.

“Nice to see you again,” Cassian winced through his teeth as Jyn slid into the car; sandwiched between both Cassian and Kay in the front. She swiveled around, finding the back also packed to the brim: Kes, Bodhi and a sleeping stranger pressed into the narrow row. Six people. Six days. (Four, if you were insane and got off on other’s misery: like Kay.) Oh, joy!  
  
“Who’s he,” Jyn asked to no one in particular.  
  
“Hansel, maybe,” Cassian guessed aloud. “Maybe Mark-something?”

Jyn quipped, “So a close, personal, friend of yours?”  
  
“He’s the sixth passenger, Jyn Erso,” Kay explained flippantly. “My car, at capacity, holds six adults. It would be an error to not fill the car completely for a trip of this mileage. Kes has claimed the fourth place. Cassian seemed to think you deserved the fifth –“

“He doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” interrupted Cassian firmly from her right.

“—and so I needed to secure one more passenger to know I was achieving optimal advantage.”

Jyn nodded, “Okay. But what if he’s a madman? A murderer? A sex fiend?”

“He’s still paying his percentage for petrol,” claimed Kay; straightening his shoulders to see a greater distance over the perilous winter wonderland that lay before them. Kay's glasses fogging with condensation as he swiped his index finger over them. “And I made sure that you, the only female traveler, would be positioned upfront to remain unmolested.”

“Very kind, Kay,” groaned Jyn as the car lurched forward out of a stop sign.

“Wait,” Bodhi whimpered from the back. “I’m not sure _I_ want to sit next to him. What if he is a… you know?”

Jyn advised, “If he can’t keep his hands to himself, close your eyes and think of –“

“He’s probably just a normal guy like us,” Cassian tried to calm his band mate. “Just an average guy heading to California…. Whose name I will remember at some point. Maybe Bill? Don –“

Jyn observed with a laugh, “None of those names sound anything alike.” 

Cassian snapped his fingers, “I feel like ‘DON’ is actually close…”

Kay kept his hands clutching the steering wheel savagely; located at the perfect 9 and 3 o’clock position. Jyn was grateful, actually, by Kay’s attentiveness in driving. She felt the slush thrashing the bottom of the car as they drove; and every time they stopped at a stoplight in downtown Baltimore, her stomach sank when the car continued to surge forward over the ice—stopping just short of hitting oncoming traffic.  
  
Each time the car continued to drifted when Kay braked (stopping uncertain) a solid arm wrapped around Jyn's waist; pulling her deeper against Cassian’s side. It was an absurd gesture. The third time, Jyn wanted to slap his arm off and hiss that Cassian’s hold wouldn’t keep her from flying through the windshield if they crashed.  
  
The fifth time, Cassian’s arm never loosened its grip; no longer pulling back stiffly to his side when the car appeared to be semi-controlled by Kay again.

Jyn did not complain; tilting her head forward to feign sleep as an excuse to relish the warmth naturally emitted by the man. Hours must have slipped by. As they neared the border of Tennessee, Jyn felt the light patterns his fingertips grazed atop her coat – disappointed in her thick winter coat for the first time that night. The barely-there, half-circles could have made her toes curl had they been applied directly to bare skin.

She rubbed her knees together wantonly when she felt Cassian shift next to her; his thumb skimming the raised hem of her skirt – _had Cassian Andor gotten bold in the past few months_?  
  
Nope. That touch seemed to be an honest mistake as he searched for a map in the glove box for Kay.  
  
She heard Cassian’s level voice, “If you’re not sure we’re on the right highway, just pull over –“

Kay argued, “I’m not stopping us in farm country in the middle of the night!” 

“You’re such a snob, Kay –“

Bodhi’s voice ventured, “Do you think we’ll be attacked by farmers? Or some creature waiting in the corn fields for fresh blood?”

Cassian told them all, “Any cornstalks would have been harvested months ago –“

“I’m with Kay,” Kes spoke up. “It’s always these little town that the really messed up shit is occurring. We should just assume every small town has a secret cult waiting for us sinners to stumble in for the next offering.” 

Jyn grumbled when someone turned on a flashlight next to her head; closing her eyes tighter to block out the glow.

“Sorry,” Cassian muttered down at her; unfolding a map in their small corner. “— I think we’re nearing the turnpike.” 

“Just ‘think’,” Kay challenged.

“Since I’m reading a map labeled in only my second spoken language,” started Cassian. “About cities and states I vaguely remembering traveling through in the past two years, I’d say ‘think’ is a safe enough bet.”

Bodhi fussed in the backseat, “When’s breakfast?” 

Jyn opened her eyes at that; checking the watch on her wrist in the flashlight’s glare, “It’s just 4:45, Bodhi.”

“But I’m awake,” Bodhi explained. “I’m awake. And I’m hungry.”  
  
“Think of something else,” proposed Jyn; detangling herself from Cassian’s side when she realized how noticeable their touching was with the flashlight on – and Kay kept glancing over to redirect Cassian’s attention to a different portion of the map.

“I want waffles,” Bodhi decided loudly. “Waffles with maple syrup all over –“ 

“I like pancakes, myself,” Kes replied.  
  
“Nah,” Jyn turned to shake her head at her band mate. “Waffles. All those little squares equally distribute all the syrup into perfect little bites –“ 

“We’re not stopping,” Kay tormented them from behind his steering wheel of power.

Jyn glared at him, “Come on, Kay. In all your planning, you had to consider pit-stops…”  
  
“Pit-stops will occur when I’m forced to pull over for refueling,” Kay told the car clearly and slowly; like he was dealing with incredibly dimwitted, petulant children. “And no pit-stops will be happening while it’s still dark out in the middle of nowhere. If anyone has to… take care of their necessaries: out the window!”

“But Kay— ,” Jyn gasped disturbed.  
  
“And I have a funnel in the glove box for you, Jyn Erso!”  
  
“EWww,” declared Bodhi; offended in the backseat.  
  
Kes just opened and closed his mouth in shock as he thought out a response.  
  
Cassian cleared his throat; eyeing Kay menacingly out of the corner of his vision.  
  
“I’m kidding,” Kay told them all in a huff. “Everyone else gets to joke around all day, and when I attempt a little light humor—it’s not as if I told Jyn anything entirely vulgar.” 

 

* * *

 

Han Solo was not just a ‘normal guy’ heading out to California. The sleeping stranger managed to wake somewhere outside of Nashville (where Cassian had finally convinced Kay to stop that morning). Jyn had just exited the pump station bathroom when he approached for introductions with a crooked grin; running fingers tantalizing along his chiseled chin as he described himself as a natural triple threat: Model/Actor/Musician. Normal guys weren’t models or actors. Or musicians, though she wouldn’t be sharing that fact with present company. 

The trifecta all the more worrisome when Han tagged on, “Might even take up writing once I reach Hollywood. Got some great ideas!”

Jyn received a cup of burnt gas station coffee from Cassian when she exited the building; taking a prolonged sip as Han followed her saying, “Have this great idea for a movie: Young, good-looking, ne’er-do-well has a cataclysmic love affair with an older woman – like, guy in his twenties sleeping around with someone’s grandmother kind of deal. Then, he falls head-over-heels for the wife of his dad’s business partner. And she’s equipped as hell –“  
  
“Equipped with what,” asked Bodhi; passing a doughnut over to Jyn.

Han answered by bringing his hands to his chest; pretending to cop a feel of himself with ample imaginary bosom. Bodhi blushed scarlet; closing the box of doughnuts and clenching it to his chest. Han had missed out on Bodhi sharing those sugary treats with that move! Jyn just rolled her eyes at the display, sitting on the curb to enjoy her breakfast.

“—So they start sleeping around. Turns out: she’s the daughter of the first woman!“

“Creepy,” Jyn replied; taking a bite of her doughnut and washing it down with coffee.  
  
Han seemed excited to have anyone listening, and just kept talking, “Gets crazier! His folks set him up on a surprise blind date with the business partner’s daughter.”  
  
Jyn mumbled through the crumbs of her doughnut, “So the daughter/granddaughter of these other women?”  
  
“Exactly. And she’s like this perfect mesh-up of all the women who came before her. So the guy is completely losing it trying to get in her pants!” Han points to Cassian next to her, “He gets it!”

“Not at all,” Cassian grounded his back molars together; shaking his head in disgust, “My grandmothers are both long dead. And my mother was an abandoning narcissist. However, I’m now going to make it my personal goal in life that, should I ever have a daughter, she’s not coming within forty yards of you. Is that understood?”

“AH – get a sense of humor,” Han swished a dismissive hand through the air.  
  
Jyn offered to Cassian, “It doesn’t have to be biographical.” 

“But it’s coming from somewhere,” Bodhi reminded everyone; sitting next to Jyn on the curb. When Kes approached, Bodhi opened the box of doughnuts; silently offering one to the keyboardist. After Kes helped himself to a pastry, the box swiftly closed with Bodhi looking over his shoulder; daring Han Solo to even ask for one.  
  
Kes asked the group, “What’s coming from where?”  
  
Clearing her throat, Jyn explained, “Han, on top of his many other interests and professions, has an idea for a movie where a guy sleeps with a grandmother, her daughter, and granddaughter.”  
  
“Well shit,” said Kes. “At the same time?”  
  
“Let’s not make this dirty,” scolded Han.  
  
“No,” Jyn informed Kes. “Not together. But it does make me wonder about the pillow talk afterwards. ‘ _Where ever did you learn THAT?_ ’ ‘Oh, your grandmother taught me’ –“  
  
“Didn’t realize I was riding with a bunch of squares,” Han spat out; lugging back towards the car where Kay was fishing around the trunk – pulling out a silken sleep mask from his bag.

“I’m cycling out for sleep,” Kay called over the parking lot. “Bodhi is to drive –“

“YAY,” Bodhi shot to his feet; fist pumping in the air. “I get radio control!”  
  
Kay tossed the keys to Bodhi as the group approached, “Drive responsibly. And, I want to make sure you all understand this: I love this car. More than a human child. If I had to decide to run over a child on a bike vs. getting a dent on the door—there would be a moment of hesitation—“ 

“We’ve been over this, Kay,” groaned Cassian. “And running over a child would probably result in a dent either way. Not to mention manslaughter…” 

Kay raised a lanky shoulder in a shrug; digging earplugs out of his bag as well, “I’m not to be woken unless there’s an emergency – and that is only if Cassian is otherwise unable to solve said emergency.”  
  
“Oh— you prissy, gangly, mess of a man,” Jyn whistled as Kay arranged himself in the backseat; angling his long limbs to find some measure of comfort against the window. Jyn tried not to smirk when Kay presented her with the bird; a more dignified presentation of one’s middle finger Jyn doubted existed. From there, Kay placed the sleep mask across his eyes; smashed the earplugs into place and vanished from the present into his scheduled sleep cycle.  
  
Jyn whispered to Cassian, “Is he… can Kay hear us anymore?”  
  
“Not sure,” remarked Cassian. 

Jyn turned after entering the car; watching Kes and Han study Kay’s immobilized figure in the back. Han waved his hand over the sleep mask in test – Jyn grinned impishly at Bodhi, “Can I drive? I haven’t in awhile but I think I can mange to stay to the right-side –“

“NO,” barked Kay.

* * *

Bodhi let her tinker with the radio as he drove. Wrinkling her nose, Jyn adjusted the dials – ignoring the grousing from Kes and Han in the back as she flipped through stations that fizzed into static. At times, she could make out the distant sounds of instruments. Or the murmurs of a nasally disc jockey’s voice announcing – but then nothing! It was aggravating to finally have power over the music but not being able to locate a decent frequency!  
  
And then she heard the horns blaring; declaring a song had started. Jyn leapt with excitement; turning her head to beam at both Bodhi and Cassian in turn. 

“We’re getting the Memphis stations,” she gushed; starting to sway to the bass line.

  
  
_“I’m gonna wait ‘til the midnight hour  
That’s when my love comes tumbling down.”_

 

“Nice,” declared Han from the backseat. “Wilson Pickett!”  
  
Kes contently added, “Good ’ld soul music!”

 

 _“I’m gonna take you, girl, and hold you_  
And do all things I told you in the midnight hour.  
YES I am, yes I am!  
  
I’m gonna wait ‘til the stars come out  
And see them twinkle in your eyes.  
I’m gonna wait ‘til the midnight hour  
That’s when my love begins to shine!”

  
  
“Pure _fucking_ sex,” Han exalted in the back. “Songs like this make me want to just completely narrow my focus to music.”  
  
“Poor music,” Jyn muttered under her breath; observing Cassian had smirked next to her.

  
_“You’re the only girl I know  
That can really love me so… in the midnight hour.”_

 

Jyn saw the movement out of the corner of her vision. Felt the shifting next to her before Cassian’s hand made actual contact. With such a long drawn-out sequence, she assumed there had been great resistance before he relinquished to smoothing his hand along her lower knee. Her pointy, bony, wobbly knee.

Jyn’s eyes drifted closed. She kept swaying to the song; Bodhi nudging her shoulder as he sang along. Cassian’s thumb brushing an offbeat pattern across her knees. She attempted to block out Kes and Han bickering in the back. Kes loved a good philosophical debate. But she doubted Han had the knowledge or skills to make the outcome anything but stacked… and then she heard the topic:  
  
“It’s all about sex,” Han argued loudly. “The raw desire… why play in a band if you’re not hoping to have hundreds of randy girls flinging their panties at you on stage each night?”  
  
“Because music, in itself, is the last honest medium,” Kes disputed.  
  
“BAH! It’s all about seeing if you can get under someone’s skirt and have a go!”

Jyn interjected against her better judgment, “I’m not trying to get under anyone’s skirts. Or have knickers flung at me.”

Han scuffed, “Well, of course you wouldn’t: you’re a girl!”

“Kind of invalidates your stance, then,” reasoned Jyn; smirking over her shoulder at them.

“You’re in _it_ to wear those too-short skirts and taunt everything male with a pulse; wondering just what you’ve got on under–“

Bodhi interrupted, “But I don’t understand why you’d want people to buy underwear just to throw it out again after a concert. Seems a terrible waste.”

Jyn patted her friend’s arm, “I think the idea is these women would be wearing them into the concert–“ 

“That’s unhygienic,” Kay scolded the entire car – reminding everyone present that (even with his earplugs and a sleep mask on) you never knew when Kay was awake, alert, and listening.

“It’s the motivator of every musician,” Han loudly informed the car. 

Jyn shook her head, “My father happens to be a musician. And a great one! And he’s never used his mus –“

“You’re going to have to talk to your parents about that one,” teased a very smug Han Solo. “I think they might shed some light!”

Jyn thought of a response – an argument to further her side. But, truthfully, her parents’ story only weakened her stance: a saxophonist/ jazz composer had met a brilliant abstract painter in London who’d barely given him the time of day. He wrote an entire concept album about their brief meetings, asked her to do the cover art and… Jyn happened. Born nine months after the _Lyra_ album dropped.  
  
Maybe this was adult-life. Realizing the pervy-side of your parents. _Well done, papa.._  
  
Jyn was only brought back to the present when Cassian’s hand tensed it’s movements – pulling back to fall stiffly in his own lap. Han now egging on the only traveler pointedly remaining silent.  
  
When Cassian fumbled voicing a definite answer, Jyn spoke up; defending Cassian with his own claim from a year ago, “Cassian is trying to bring the world _hope_!”

A call-to-arms she’d rolled her eyes at now felt unavoidably noble and necessary compared to Han’s worldview. Rock-and-roll had to mean something more than just a bunch of stoned playboys’ trying to grind their socks off –

Han asked, “Can’t he speak for himself?” 

Cassian shrugged, “Nope. Jyn got it about right. Just trying to fill the world with a bit more hope and happiness than I found it.” 

“—ME TOO,” declared Bodhi; drumming the steering wheel as the song rolled to an end:

  
  
_“Nobody around, baby. Just you and I --_  
You know what, I’m gonna hold you in my arms  
Just you and I.

_OH YEAH, in the midnight hour  
Oh baby, in the midnight hour.”_

  
Staring straight ahead at the highway, Jyn took Cassian’s hand back; plopping it higher up on her thigh this time. She dismissed any nerves as she spread her hand over his. Discreetly coaxing Cassian to grope the soft flesh there. It had to feel better for both of them than the pressure striking against her sharp knee bone.

* * *

 The car ended up in a ditch. In hindsight, Jyn shouldn’t have been shocked. The continued antics of a certain fellow traveler could only amount to a wreck somewhere. 

Kay was driving when Han stretched into the front seat; extending a pointed finger towards the roadway and screaming into her ear, “LOOK OUT!”  
  
It was a paper bag from _Jabba Burger’s_ floating in a light breeze. Still, the right front tire ruptured when they landed in gulley. Luckily, the car hadn’t flipped! They’d managed to extract each other from the car and push it towards the next gas station together. Hours added to their trip in the process.  
  
As the mechanic patched the tire, Jyn found herself in a huddle with Kay, Cassian, Bodhi, and Kes. Discussing Han.  
  
“Cut our losses and leave him,” Kes suggested; looking over his shoulder as Han repeatedly hit a Coca-Cola machine in the distance. “Guy’s nothing but trouble!”  
  
“He’s still paying a percentage of our travel expenses,” reasoned Kay heatedly.  
  
Jyn offered, “I’m comfortable paying a little bit more—“ the four men all turned to study her. “—Yep. I’m totally for leaving the guy in the desert. He’ll catch a bus at some point and get to L.A. by himself. It’s not like we’re leaving him to die –“  
  
“We’re not leaving Han,” Cassian used his most assertive voice; glancing around the circle to make sure everyone understood him. “Kay, Bodhi, and I made a deal with him…”  
  
Han approached the group; clutching three bottles of Coca-Cola in each hand, “I feel like we’ve started on the wrong foot… And that’s completely my fault.” He passed around the sodas; remarking, “Think of this as a peace offering. From me to all of you.”  
  
Jyn almost felt sorry for the man when she watched him sheepishly raise his own bottle in a toast, “To Hollywood!”  
  
All six travelers lifted their sodas into the air; clinking them together in a moment of solidarity.  
  
“May all our dreams and ambitions find fruition in L.A.,” Han went on; taking a long slurp of his coke.  
  
The almost poetic moment caught Jyn off-guard; she glanced around her and watched all the rest drinking their sodas before sipping her own.  
  
“Tastes good,” conceded Jyn with a nod. “Not usually a big soda-pop girl but this is very refreshing.”  
  
“Glad you like it,” Han retorted; masking a shit-eating grin with another sip of his coke.  
  
“It does taste different,” mused a confused Bodhi; his bottle already half gone. “Sweeter, maybe. More complex.”  
  
“Maybe a different recipe out west,” Kes suggested; finishing his coke with his head thrown back.  
  
Kay was the first to notice Han Solo was silently laughing to himself, “What did you do?”  
  
Han announced, “Just thought us sharing a trip would reinforce some bonding rituals. And it’s really something you should experience in a group.”  
  
A baffled, wide-eyed, Cassian gulped where he stood, “What did you dose us with?”

“Don’t freak out,” Han told the group. “The psychologist I was crashing with used this shit in her studies. It’s pretty much medicine. And pure-grade, at that. You’re lucky to be trying this no charge.”  
  
Jyn spit the remaining swallow of her coke out onto the sandy pavement; stepping into the center of the circle to grab Han Solo by his shirt and threatened, “If you’re messing with us, you’d better admit that RIGHT NOW. Or I will seriously destroy –“  
  
Han shushed her. Pushing Jyn away with trembling hands, “Calm down, little lady. Tripping on LSD is a religious experience. A rite of passage, really—”  
  
Kay got the honor of punching Han Solo in the nose. Jyn was a tad dejected as she watched Kay line up his arm and deliver the blow. But watching the rivulets of blood pouring from Han’s nose as he straightened helped. Jyn even managed a respectful nod to Kay as the group headed for the car; Han calling back, “We have an hour before it kicks in. I suggest this rock formation in the desert. You guys will love it – and I’ve got a feeling we’re going to be friends for a long, long, long time!”

* * *

Jyn was bugging out within minutes. She didn’t know if it was some level of neurotic combated with knowing an unfamiliar substance was passing through her body but Jyn was feeling queasy; certain the fog levitating over the highway was a hallucination. No one else seemed affected yet – judging by each time she pulled Cassian closer by his arm and pointed towards the roadway his forehead just creased in confusion; not seeing the way the lines on the road were starting to glide into each other and dance through her vision. 

"You’re a moron,” she directed backwards to Han Solo while she maintained coherent thought. “Giving me… the same dosage as the rest of you…” 

“It would have been suspicious if I handed out five cokes and said ‘ _just for the males nearing six feet… and this one’s for the lady a hundred pounds soaking wet_ ’. You’d never have drunk them!”  
  
“It’s okay, Jyn,” Bodhi’s voice floated towards her. “Drugs never affect me. Not even a little bit. I’ll be your drug guide… does that sound right?”  
  
Jyn released an unworldly giggle; rotating to face the back and touch Bodhi’s hand, “My drug buddy!”  
  
Bodhi nodded, “I like the sound of that! And I’ll stay right with you so you can just think ‘Bodhi’s the constant’ and everything else is imaginary.”  
  
Jyn waved a hand over her face; sitting up on her knees to exclaim, “I’m sort of getting this gut feeling that I’m going to die –“  
  
She heard Cassian muttering under his breath; his hand rising to smooth over his face tiredly.  
  
Jyn continued, “If I die, drug buddy, will you tell my parents I love them? Please? And tell them I’m sorry for being so difficult… but they should have known it was coming. They made me! I’m part of each of them. What else could they have expected?”  
  
“JYN –“  
  
“You’re not going to die, Jyn,” Cassian slowly told her; tapping a finger against her shoulder with each word. “Not going to die.”  
  
Jyn spun to face the roadway again; flinging her arms around Kay’s neck and asking the driver, “Would you ask my papa to play the final track off the _Lyra_ album at my funeral, please? And everyone but Han is invited!”  
  
“Shara is going to be so disappointed with me,” a nervous Kes voiced in the backseat; tapping his long fingers against the window. “—We said we’d never try any new drugs without each other! Holy shit, what if I _DIE_?” 

“NO ONE IS DYING TONIGHT,” repeated Cassian to the car. “We’re going to get through this together. And probably be pretty sick in the morning but – “

“And what if Shara is pregnant,” Kes continued rambling to himself. “And I’m someone’s father but I don’t actually get to live and be SOMEONE’S father?”  
  
“I could be someone’s father too,” Han tremored. “I could be a lot of someones’ father.” 

“What if we’re all supposed to father someones,” Bodhi asked the car. “To have these kids… like one of us might have been meant to have a child who cures cancer or brings about world peace. But we die tonight so they’re never born. Peace never happens. And someone really important dies from cancer… like Mickey Mouse.”  
  
Jyn laughed manically at that statement; tossing her head back and singing, “M- I -C -K –E- Y…. mo…us…EEEeee!”  
  
Kay was starting to sweat; his hands slipping from the steering wheel as he fought the chemical reactions he’d never asked for, “You are all freaking me out: stop it! Use a little more control and maybe I can get us to a safe motel room where everyone can lose their minds.” 

Han leaned into the front, “You’ve got to pull over! I have to run. Got to run fast… like the cartoon… that bird-thing that races away from death. Got to run from death before it catches me!”  
  
Jyn stared at Han, “Can running cheat death? Are you sure? Kay, I’ve got to run! Got to be the roadrunner!”  
  
“You can both run in circles in the motel room,” promised Cassian. “Where no one is able to run off a cliff.”

“This is a bad trip,” Kes moaned in the back. “All I can think about is Shara. I want Shara! I should have brought Shara with me… I should have asked…”  
  
“Then I could have flown out,” Jyn wondered aloud. “But… maybe then I would have died in a plane crash. Like Buddy Holly.”  
  
“Nah! Only famous musicians die in plane crashes,” Han attempted to calm her.  
  
“So I’ve lived a wasted life,” Jyn stammered. “I’ve accomplished nothing! Will not live-on in the perfect song. Never even recorded an album. And will never father the future savior of humanity!”  
  
“Mother,” Kes corrected; now tracing a pattern against the window’s glass. Delicate loops that seemed to spell out _SHARA_.

Jyn jostled to the side as Kay pulled the car over; the ginger man now sweating through his shirt.  
  
“I couldn’t get us to safety,” lamented the singer to his best friend; Cassian just patting him on the shoulder in return.  
  
“Everyone remain calm,” Cassian told them; reaching to lock the doors – but Bodhi bolted; racing off into the sunset as the group cursed after him.  
  
“My drug buddy is gone,” Jyn cried out; reaching a hand outward to call Bodhi back. But he was nowhere in sight.  
  
“Everyone stick together,” Cassian moved to exit the car. “We stay together and search for Bodhi as a unit.”  
  
Han leaped out the door; scratching along his arms. “They’re on me! HELP! They’re on me!”  
  
Dancing towards the headlights, Han started to shed his clothes; winging the garments into the desert air as he gyrated his hips to a song Jyn wasn’t hearing. Probably Han’s trip included musical accompaniment… lucky bastard! All Jyn heard was the wind blowing against stone formations in a desert: a hallow, frightening sound. All the more daunting feeling her death was approaching.  
  
Bare-assed in the headlights, Jyn watched Han scoot-off into the desert. Disappearing like the roadrunner, so Jyn knew he was at least safe from death.  
  
Then Kes pointed into the horizon, “My spirit guide has arrived!”  
  
An armored rodent raced up a nearby stone formation; angling to watch the strange humans and their still running vehicle.  
  
“Aaaarrra-dillo,” Kes chanted. “My armadillo guide shall teach me how to be a father!”  
  
“Are armadillos known for being strong parental figures,” Kay asked the group.  
  
Jyn shrugged, “Kes, is Shara really, possibly, pregnant because you’re very fixated…”  
  
“I will study the ways of the aaarraa-dillo,” explained Kes as he weaved to approach the animal. “I will grow to receive my role of father.”  
  
“Kes, that’s irrational,” declared Jyn; leaning off the car to be ready in case the rodent decided to maul her friend.  
  
Kay clarified, “The girl gleefully planning her funeral minutes ago is making more sense than you, Kes!”  
  
In the same moment Cassian charged to tackle the keyboardist to the ground, the armadillo darted back into the night – Kes bounding after him, yelling to the remaining three, “I shall return in the morrow!”  
  
Cassian sat in a heap on the ground; dusting off his hands on his pant, “If either of you are planning to bolt, please just give me a warning!”  
  
Kay announced, “I’m actually feeling fine now. Sweating… a bit more than usual.” Kay looked like he’d been caught in a sudden rainstorm; sweat dripping off his hair and glasses. But he was smiling; a pleasant expression as he studied the place Kes had disappeared. “Very hot! Are deserts always like this, Cassian?”  
  
Jyn turned to the Mexican and asked, “Do you have any suggestions for surviving the desert? Can you track them?”  
  
Cassian looked up at both of them; eyes dilated and assuring them, “Not all of us Mexicans grew up in the desert or are ingrained with special knowledge about desert lore. I grew up in an urban Guadalajara slum…”

Kay and Jyn looked at each other; then back at Cassian. Clearing his throat, Cassian further explained, “I’ve probably been to as many deserts as you two.”

Jyn vaguely nodded; staring down at him vacantly, “So… we’re still going to find them, right? I don’t want anyone to die alone!”  
  
Kay sneered, “Still convinced we’re all going to die?”  
  
Nodding, Jyn explained, “It’s only a matter of time before someone drops an atomic bomb again.”

“Really bad trip for her," Kay muttered down to Cassian.   
  
“Fucking-it all to hell,” Jyn watched the dimmed scene get cast in a blacker shadow. Her pupils narrowing to pinpoints. “It’s starting!”  
  
“A cloud,” Kay coached her through; pointing upward to the sky. “Just a cloud passing-by.”  
  
Cassian continued to sit on the ground; flexing his fingers in wonder, “Time: it’s standing still!”  
  
“Why don’t we wait by the car,” noted Kay; bringing Jyn over to Cassian and sitting together in a tight circle; their knees brushing, “They’ll be back at some point.” 

“If we’re still alive come morning,” Jyn asked the men. “Can we search for them?”  
  
Cassian nodded; raising his eyes to met her’s… and then raising them again in surprise. Like she’d grown a second head, “Jyn, you’re breathtaking in the moonlight.”  
  
Jyn looked up at the sky; wrinkling her nose, “… Is the moon even out?”  
  
“I really didn’t want to be present for this,” Kay sighed heavily; rotating his body away from the pair.  
  
With a serene smile, Cassian continued, “Your eyes… little swirls of uncharted galaxies… all blues and greens and golds…”

Kay bemoaned, “I cannot believe you write our lyrics. What the hell was I thinking—“

Jyn leaned closer; resting her forehead against Cassian’s throat, “… You’re having a much more fun trip than I am! All I can think about are the chances the Russians will be nuking America tonight.”

Kay reported to her, “If they do, you’d hardly have the reaction-time to do anything but watch the blinding light approach: instantaneous death.”  
  
“And hold my loved ones close,” Jyn realized aloud; threading her fingers through Cassian’s. She then cleared her throat; other hand hovering outward for Kay – “Hold my _bloody_ hand, Kay!”

“I’m not really comfortable with prolonged touching,” Kay claimed; taking Jyn’s hand and holding it laxly by the wrist. Ready to let go when he formed an excuse to. 

Cassian’s grip tightened; his spare hand skimming her chin as he said, “Your freckles are rotating like planets around the sun.”  
  
“It wouldn’t be an atomic blast,” taunted Kay as he inched further away from Cassian pawing at Jyn’s skin; spectacled eyes gleaming upward to the stars. “Hydrogen bombs are the way of the future. Fission vs. fusion: and fusion is much more powerful! I read it’s the most powerful force in the universe: the force that powers the stars –“  
  
Cassian replied in a sing-song voice, “I know a more powerful force!”

“Doubtful,” sneered Kay; glancing over his shoulder in horror as Cassian pulled Jyn closer to his side.  
  
“Kay, I’m already wigging out. Please stop –“ 

“Jyn Erso, I am trying to educate you on your current fear,” Kay told her. “Once we have the knowledge and can understand these threats, they no longer have any hold on us. With a hydrogen bomb, the blast reaches so much farther. There would be nothing to possibly do once it’s launched. Fortunately, chances of surviving a blast are so low you wouldn’t have to live-on like some of the poor Japanese did after the Americans dropped the atomic bomb: horrible ailments that are now being passed along in their genetics! We would all just be obliterated into dust. Now, isn’t that a calming thought by comparison!”  
  
Jyn simply muttered, “Stardust.”  
  
Cassian had started to smell her now; soughing into her hair, “You smell like orange…”  
  
“I don’t know why I smell like citrus,” replied Jyn; following Kay’s example and looking up at the sky.

“No,” Cassian shook his head frantically. “Not the fruit. The color!”  
  
There was a moon tonight. Flickering, rounded in her vision; creating a hazy mauve cast that Jyn suspected only she was witnessing. The sky peppered with stars weaving in and out of a dotted track of motion.  
  
“Kay –“ Jyn choked out through a dry mouth. “Have you ever seen Van Gogh’s _Starry Night_?”  
  
“Well, I haven’t ‘seen it’”, Kay prissily told her. “But have seen a recreation in a book.”  
  
“I saw it when I was a child,” Jyn explained. “A mind-numbly beautiful painting. People are now saying it’s about the world ending… all of us getting swallowed up by the galaxy.”

“The world’s not ending,” Cassian attempted to mollify against her ear.  
  
Jyn gasped as the shapes overhead changed directions; floating on a sky now bright purple. “So, neither of you see the shadows starting to cover the sky again? Narrowing everything down to a pinpoint?”  
  
Cassian looked up at the sky; observing, “The sky’s expanding.”

A breeze hit her face; the clouds changed direction and Jyn had to agree: everything was expanding!

* * *

Jyn woke curled in a hunch; braced for sitting upward between Cassian’s legs as her body draped across his torso. When her eyes followed the path of her outreached hand, Jyn found Kay’s still holding her as he slept. An excuse not to touch never materializing. Her vision was still blurred; a groggy feeling in her head as she surveyed the scene around them.  
  
It was a dim morning – with the sun still low in the sky. The sound of a desert song-bird echoed across the sand. They were alive. At least the three of them. No nuclear holocaust in the night.  
  
Jyn watched as the back door of Kay’s car creaked open; a dark figure searching through their bags. Releasing Kay’s hand and extracting herself from Cassian’s legs, Jyn approached in a crouch; picking up a lone twig as her defense against a possible thief – whacking the stick against the metal siding, Jyn alerted the figure to move back.

Hands raised in surrender. Bodhi stepped out from behind the car; naked and gleaming in the sun. But alive. No missing limbs. Just small scrapes along his legs. Bare feet covered in layers of coarse sand.  
  
“I feel like I ran all night,” Bodhi whimpered; hands quickly dropping to shield his penis as Jyn rounded the corner.  
  
Jyn reached into the back of the car; pulling out a worn throw-blanket and wrapping the it around Bodhi’s shoulders, “Any ideas where your clothes are?”

Bodhi shook his head, “Just knew I needed to be rid of them… immediately. Shoes too.” 

Jyn motioned Bodhi over to where Cassian and Kay started to stir; the four sitting in the flimsy circle they’d created to see through the night.  
  
Kes walked out from behind a large rock formation; cradling something within his arms.

“Please say you didn’t catch the armadillo,” accused Jyn. 

Kes held up a stone the size of a ukulele, “This is my spirit son! I located him after proposing to Shara; who was really just a cactus.”

“Holy-fucking shit, man,” stammered Jyn. “I think you take the prize for craziest trip. And I was convinced an H-Bomb was going to be obliterating us all last night.”  
  
“I thought my skin was on fire,” Bodhi admitted. “And I kept stopping, dropping, and rolling… couldn’t find any water.” 

Kay sat up, alerting the group, “LSD didn’t really affect me in the least. Fairly enjoyable, actually.”

Jyn nodded down to his shirt, “Your armpits are stained yellow…”  
  
“I thought Jyn was…” Cassian stopped himself mid-sentence; bashfully avoiding Jyn’s questioning glance in his direction. “I mean: lots of funky shapes and colors. Might do it again. Like, in a safe, controlled environment.”

“I’d do it again,” Bodhi agreed.

“Worth trying again,” Kay told the group. “Just not in a stinking desert!” 

Kes loudly cleared his throat, “My newfound paternal energies forces me to voice the elephant in the… desert: Han appears to still be missing… and his clothes are scattered around the highway.”  
  
“Maybe he hitched,” Jyn suggested; lifting her shoulder disinterestedly.  
  
“The Sahara king has returned,” Han declared over the landscape; naked and proudly waving his cock through the air as he approached the group. “I’m feeling recharged! Who missed me? Jyn, any thoughts about my 'big kahuna'?”  
  
“It’s there,” Jyn admitted in a bored monotone; rolling her eyes as Han continued to grind his hips in a whirligig. Turning her head to the others, Jyn asked, “Ready to head out? L.A.’s, what? – Six hours away?” 

* * *

Los Angles was sun – blinding white sunlight glistening through palm trees; trees Jyn realized she’d never seen in person before. Scratchy bark and fern-like leaves. It was almost five o’clock at night, and still everyone on the sidewalks was dressed for the beach. Swimsuit after swimsuit. By the tenth stoplight, Han had hopped out of the car; saying he’d be around to collect his things later. Much more preoccupied with the here and now. And, for Han Solo, that was following a group of bleach-blondes in their two pieces wherever they planned on going tonight –  
  
And L.A. was traffic; cars packed across the beachy highways. Somehow, in the open air (bright blue sky overheard) it felt more congested than New York ever did. 

When Jyn closed the door to her motel room, she was ready to call it a night. And not wander back to the chaos of navigating L.A.’s scene yet. Locating questionably clean glasses by her dresser and tiny bottles of booze instead. The only real disappointment was the view; she ripped the shades of her window open (alcohol in hand) expecting to see some portion of the ocean – but instead was greeted with the last fragments of blinding white sunlight beating down on the pale brick of the building next-door. Jyn swiftly closed them again; turning on her transistor radio and crossing the room for the door. Her head popped into the hallway; listening to Kes’s muted voice through his cracked door. He was calling Shara back east; begging her to come out. Offering to pay the ticket-fare—

A scrawny silhouette crept down the hallway. Jyn watched unobserved as Cassian passed; holding a little bucket of ice as he tried to trace-back the route to his own room. Smirking, Jyn leaned out the door; holding her glass of tequila out as she begged, “Spare some ice?”

Cassian slowly turned; peering down at her glass as Jyn shook it to remind him the question. Silently, Cassian plopped an ice cube into her glass. Followed by two more frosting her drink and tinging against each other.

Jyn expected him to turn away; to spin on his axis and vanish. But her radio interrupted with the familiar blaring of horns; Wilson Pickett’s voice calling to them both from within her motel room,

  
  
_“I’m gonna wait ‘til the midnight hour  
That’s when my love comes tumbling down  
I’m gonna wait ‘til the midnight hour  
When there’s no one else around.”_

 

“I’ve got another glass,” Jyn told him casually. “Fancy a nightcap?”  
  
It was a painless suggestion; a loseless chance. Both knew they had almost identical motel rooms. Cassian’s room also supplied two dusty glasses and just as many tiny bottles of liquor as her own.

The offer was for company – something Jyn suspected they both yearned for in the quiet hours.

Cassian stepped forward; nodding at the offer as Jyn nudged the door open behind her. Allowing Cassian to enter first – and being sure to lock the door behind her.  
  
The bucket of ice hit the floor the moment Jyn rose to reach his lips; hands grabbing hold of his collar to pull him closer – ice sent ricocheting across the carpet. Jyn’s unsipped drink followed when Cassian lifted her against him; the pair _tumbling_ towards the single bed. Clothes cast-off and abandoned in their path. A pool of melted ice and wasted tequila spread from the doorway into the hall. And Wilson Pickett urged them on,

_“I’m gonna take you, girl and hold you  
And do all things I told you in the midnight hour.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music References/ Playlist for this chapter:
> 
> ‘Time Is On My Side’ by the Rolling Stones
> 
> ‘In the Midnight Hour’ by Wilson Pickett


	4. Days in L.A.

** Monday Morning: **

  
  
Jyn would never have anticipated Cassian Andor still sleeping in her bed come morning. But taut back muscles and a pert ass greeted her eyes blinking away sleep. Long legs stretched out over the edge of the bed; with sheets twisted around them like braided cords.

It was not an appalling sight for Jyn’s eyes. She even allowed herself one final tug of his dark hair before lifting herself off the mattress and moving for the bathroom; grabbing the first article of clothing she located in her path: an overly starched, bleached to the crispest whiteness, man’s button-down shirt. Jyn shrugged the shirt on; rolling the sleeves past her elbows. As she brushed her teeth, Jyn kept pacing in front of the open bathroom door to inspect her bedmate. Jyn hated surprises. Refused to be caught off guard again by this man! But Cassian didn’t budged. Just a steady rise and fall of his chest to indicate he was still breathing—sleeping deeply and contently.

Baffled, Jyn continued to go about a sloppy morning routine: brushing out her hair and trimming the fringe of her bangs. She ripped open the curtains and blinds. Letting piercing morning sunlight bounce across the room— but Cassian wasn’t voluntarily waking. Years of traveling and an aberrant schedule had forged a man who could sleep through anything. And did, if he got the chance! 

She crossed the room, fishing out a lightweight dress with black polka dots (something she thought looked trendy but professional if she was called into a meeting at Alliance Records today). Bent over her suitcase, Jyn felt his shirt bunching up around her hips; offering up a teasing view of her derriere if someone was admiring from the bed. Jyn glanced over her shoulder; sulking as Cassian snored-on. Missing the entire racy display.

Finding no need for modesty at this point, Jyn shoved off his shirt; dressing in the middle of the room and flinging the discarded shirt towards the bed—Cassian finally moved at that! Rolling lazily to his side. She heard the whimperings of discontentment— splatterings of Spanish.

It wasn’t until she was fully dressed, heels on, that Jyn moved for the bed—nudging his protruding leg with the tip of her heel as she approached.

“Go away, Kay,” he snuggled against a pillow.  
  
Jyn lay a hand on his shoulder; shaking him as she cleared her throat.  
  
He groused, “I said: go away—”  
  
“I can’t,” Jyn replied. “You’re in my room.”

One brown eye crept open for visual confirmation before the other followed. Cassian jerked to a sitting position as Jyn spanned the motel room: locating her wristwatch on the sink in the bathroom, Jyn took her time adjusting the watchband. Kept her eyes fixed on this task to offer Cassian a moment of privacy—something he didn’t seem to need. 

When she turned around, he was right at her side; still naked and grinning sheepishly as he explained, “Thought you were Kay.”  
  
“If you wake up to Kay most mornings, you might need to evaluate your relationship—“ she stopped as she was pressed against the sink. Cassian’s hands laced around the back of her head; tilting her face upward as he kissed her.  
  
A brief peck (barely there) before they pulled back to stare at each other. 

“Is this okay,” he asked; hands still cradling her head.  
  
As if last night wasn’t permission enough. Jyn knocked her head to the side; eyes darting up and down Cassian’s body in mock appraisal. And he waited. Waited with bated breath as Jyn’s eyes glowed with mischief. She arched upward; lips grazing his as she snared him with a single word, “Obviously.”  
  
He lifted Jyn to a sitting position on the sink; balancing her against cool porcelain with his hips. Wetted lips snaked around her neck. His Adam’s apple bobbled as he refrained from saying something else; floundering to kiss the edges of her mouth. Almost greedy when Jyn opened her mouth; seeking to explore the contours of Cassian more thoroughly than last night. The straps of her dress slipped down on their own accord as eager hands bunched up her skirt—Jyn assisted by hiking the fabric past her hips as Cassian’s fingers pushed her knickers to the side. A thumb tracing along the route he’d versed last night to locate the nub that sent Jyn reeling.  
  
Jyn knocked backward at the sensation; crying out in nonsensical delight for more. But her back struck hard against the faucet. Hard enough to leave a bruise as she cursed loudly.  
  
Cassian removed his fingers. Pulling Jyn into him. Raunchiness lapsed as Cassian assisted in lowering back to the floor. He pointed an arm back to the room and asked, “Bed?”  
  
“Bed,” Jyn agreed; following Cassian out of the bathroom. Cassian curled backward to lounge on the bed; rising on his elbows to watch as Jyn shimmied out of her dress. Knickers already plunging towards the carpet as her brassiere went flying over her shoulder. Jyn climbed after him; pinning Cassian against the mattress with a triumphant leer.  
  
“No plans for the day,” Jyn interrogated half-heartedly; already possessively tugging at his hair and seeking friction between her legs. 

Jyn jeered him by grounding against his thigh as he informed her, “Nothing happens in L.A. before noon.”  
  
Not ‘nothing’. Jyn allowed herself to be shifted to the side as Cassian settled his solid form atop her.  
  
As far as shags went, Jyn found the exercise vigorous with Cassian. A thorough game of ‘how’s your father’; played by restless children who’d only recently found their new favorite toy. The mutual arrangement of ‘company’ led to a mutual urge to guarantee the other’s satisfaction in these pursuits. It didn’t hurt to feel like they were jointly discovering something new in the mix. Jyn discovered that even her blistered hands gripping his cock sent Cassian into a frenzy; jerking his hips forward in the air as his breath hitched. Cassian learned that Jyn was overly sensitive behind her knees—one of her rare ticklish spots—as he grazed the soft skin there while lifting her legs high into the air. His tongue thrashing within her cunt couldn’t even make Jyn’s toes curl half as much as when he tickled the backs of her knees and grinned impishly down at her.

The combination of laughing and howling made breathing labored. Jyn panted overwrought with desire. A tantalizing ‘itch’ could not be scratched with an able tongue alone, despite Jyn bucking her hips beneath him. She dragged Cassian upward; skimming hands along his lean shoulders as her tongue lashed against his. Teeth yanking at any lose skin she came to—teasing the man with her own need for dominance. Even while laying naked and vulnerable under his bulk.

She pressed her hips snuggly against his own. Open-mouthed kisses were rushed against her cheek, her neck, and the valley of her breasts. Fleeting displays of affection, really. Easily forgotten as the main event bumped against her thigh as Cassian readjusted on his knees to enter her.  
  
Cassian was studious. Eyes narrowed onto his present goal—thrusting above her and panting already at the repeated exertion from last night. Far too serious and focused for Jyn. Matching his rhythm, Jyn lowered a hand to grind against his arse and commanded, “Talk.”  
  
A new sort of exploration: speech. Sexual encounters in the past for Jyn were rushed affairs in dorm rooms or cars. Get in, grind around, and draw as little attention to yourselves as possible. And she highly suspected Cassian was not a man who often voiced his lusty thoughts. Something flickering behind his brown eyes alerted Jyn that these lusty thoughts existed. Even if skillfully hidden away.  
  
In awe, he admitted, “I never thought I’d be touching you—feeling you—”  
  
Jyn exaggerated a moan, “Yes, go on!”  
  
But Cassian’s jaw set in a tight square; containing his innermost thoughts. He did, however, shift his hips. Like the change in penetration would invalidate any response. It only postponed Jyn for a moment; releasing a grunt as wrapped her legs around Cassian like a vice grip.  
  
“What would you like to do to me,” she changed her tactics. Then, with a smirk, she added, “Or me to do to you? What do you want?”

A prominent blush darkened a puce trail all the way down to his chest. Visibly gulping, he stared at the edge of the pillow to avoid making eye contact. Cassian ended up giving the most straightforward reply (something so earnest, Jyn believed him), “This.”  
  
Jyn never paused to consider just what Cassian considered ‘ _this_ ’. Later, she nodded off to sleep questioning if she should find Cassian boring. Difficult to do with the man himself still next to her. Asleep again as he curled around her. Was it too bland if a man just craved standard sex? Just to thrash about atop a willing female? She’d still climaxed sated under his weight; meshing their foreheads together as coherent thoughts escaped them both.

 

* * *

 

** Wednesday Afternoon:  **

  
  
Located on Sunset Boulevard, the Alliance Records’ headquarters was a relic to another time. Smacked between new, streamline, glass structures, the skyscraper had been built by Charlie Chaplin in the dawn of the Hollywood Golden Age. With a decadent art deco façade that bent along the curve of the block. Only the most expensive and colorful foreign automobiles parked outside as their taxicab pulled against the curb. Jyn did a double-take as she exited the taxi behind Kes and Baze; straining her neck to take in as much of the building as possible within feet from the swiveling front entrance. 

“And it’s all here,” gasped Jyn as she followed Baze inside. “The studio and offices—“

“ _Studios_ ,” clarified Baze. “Have to use the plural or these big-shots will keep correcting. They sure love to brag about their multiple recording studios in-house.“

Technically, Jyn had been in a recording studio before. Galen Erso had converted their gatehouse into a recording studio when he started doing production work for new Jazz albums. Before that, Jyn had visited a recording studio in London when her papa and Saw were working with a sessions’ band; Lyra holding her hand the whole time as Jyn watched from the tech room—excitedly waving when either looked towards the unexpected audience.  
  
Neither could match the massive scale of what lay before her now.  
  
“Saw wants to change the plan,” Baze told both her and Kes in elevator. “Says he can hear the entire album in his head—just needs to start recording it.”

Jyn nodded, “So we’ll be—“ 

“Label isn’t happy,” Baze interrupted with a frown; pushing the younger musicians out once they’d reached the tenth floor. The narrow hallway was dark—tinted windows and sectionals blocked off to form smaller, den-like, rooms. They easily passed four different recording studios before Baze ushered them inside a door. Over a panel of knobs and switches, a single window showed Saw alone inside. He pressed his mouth against a hanging microphone and sang out,

  
  
“— _It’s been too hard living, but I’m afraid to die_  
‘Cause I don’t know what’s up there beyond the sky  
  
It’s been a long, long time coming  
But I know a change gon’ come, oh yes it will.“

  
  
Seated technicians adjusted the sound levels as a stern-faced executive crossed his arms and shook his head in dismissal.  
  
“This will never work,” the executive muttered— Jyn thought to himself until hooded eyes rose to study the expressions on Baze, Kes, and (finally) her face. “Too depressing. Too political. Saw’s audience is the East Coast. No one there wants to be reminded how racist the South can be.”

Baze kept his eyes focused on Saw through the window, reminding the man, “There’s racism everywhere.”  
  
The executive nodded agreement at that statement, lamenting, “The Civil Rights movement isn’t going to sell any records. Unless it’s people in the South buying just to burn them.” 

Kes offered, “They’d still be buying, though.”

Saw belted out,

 

“ _I go to the movies and I go downtown_  
Somebody keeps telling me: ‘don’t hang around’  
  
It’s been a long, long time coming  
But I know a change gon’ come, oh yes it will—“

 

 

Kes whispered to Jyn, “Aren’t we already the black sheep of this label? What did they expect—“

“Music should spotlight injustice,” Jyn answered; louder to make sure the executive heard her. He raised an eyebrow at her but diverted his attention back to Saw,

  
  
  
“ _Then I go to my Brother_  
And I say, ‘Brother, help me please!’  
But he winds up knockin’ me  
Back down to my knees.  
  
There’ve been times that I thought I couldn’t last for long  
But now I think I’m able to carry on  
It’s been a long, a long time coming  
But I know a change is gon’ come, oh yes it will.”

  
  
When Saw finished, he walked into the tech room—zeroing in on the executive and declaring, “Working for you yet, Draven?”  
  
Dave Draven: a music producer, manager of bands, Alliance Records shareholder, and the ex-husband of the company’s biggest act, Mona Mothma. Jyn realized she had probably been unfair to assume every Mona ballad about an over-controlling dipshit had to be about this man. After all, the pair had parted ways over a decade ago and were reportedly amicable. Mona wouldn’t have stayed on a label of a man fitting into all the categories of ‘bad boyfriend’ material. Still, the way Kay and even Cassian had described the man made Dave Draven sound larger than life: hyper intelligence mixed with the capacity to micro-manage all his affairs.  
  
The man standing next to her was stern—a square jawline the possible culprit as he busied chewing on the inside of his cheek in thought. Tired eyes. Very tired and overworked. But Draven took no pleasure telling Saw, “It’s not going to sell.” 

Saw spat out, “Is that all that matters for you?”

Draven nodded, “This is a business. I’ve run the data on West and East coast record sales. And the South. West coast is only interested in ‘ _Surfing Safaris_ ’ (and I don’t even want to know what the kids think that means!). Your sound is marketable on the East coast: electric, rock n’ roll—“

“They’ll adapt to this,” Saw spoke up for his fans. “They want something new: you can just tell looking out into the crowd at concerts. The hunger is there for something _real_.”

Draven asked, “I don’t get it: is it folk, jazz, soul—it’s not rock.”  
  
“It’s all of it,” Saw explained; waving a hand through the air in frustration. “Now that my band’s all here we’ll cut it with some rock; maybe speed it up a bit. The sound has changed—but the world hasn’t. Most of the songs Baze and I have been rearranging date from around the Civil War. And here we are, the end of ’65, dealing with the same oppression. I can’t even play in Mississippi anymore. Unless I want to have a riot of men chanting I should be lynched!” 

Draven look sympathetic, “So is this album meant to be calling-out the South? Or is that just an after-thought?”

“It’s meant to remind people—whatever fucking coast they’re on—that we’re all people. Just trying to live our lives,” Saw billowed in the small room.  
  
Keeping calm, Draven glanced to a clock on the wall, “Meeting in five: amongst yourselves, work this one out. We need you recording by next week, Saw. There isn’t time for anymore delays.”

Saw grimaced, “Can’t wait to mass-produce my art for ya’ll!”

* * *

They sat around the glistening pool of Saw and Baze’s hotel—several thousand steps up from the motel Jyn and Kes were staying and its moldy green waters. It was 4:30 in the afternoon. Time for the evening boozing to commence. Each clutched strong Bloody Marys as Saw explained this new project; smirking as he told them, 

“Long past the time to be political!”

Baze grunted agreement. 

Jyn raised her glass to the pair of them, “I’m game to stir things up!”

Saw explained, “We’ll blend it in: have a couple love songs for the hell of it. Then roast the toes off all the hypocrites choosing to be compliant for the status quo. People are dying everyday in the American South; while we are supposed to turn our noses up and look elsewhere!”

“Sex sells,” Jyn admitted out of nowhere—earning her shocked expressions from her band mates. “If we need something marketable to get Draven on board, mask the love songs with lots of innuendo. Kids love it!”

Saw chuckled at her; praising, “Sex, drugs, and social justice: they’ll have a field day with this shit!”

Jyn played aloof when she saw _them_ approaching behind Saw; crossing the pool in a line. Kay led the march, swinging his hips and clutching a fresh gin and tonic in his hand. A large straw hat protecting Kay’s sensitive complexion from the sun. Cassian followed: a fresh tan suit with an unbuttoned dress shirt underneath. Bodhi was also dressed for business; tie now loose and flapping in the breeze as Bodhi sipped his drink out of a large coconut with a bending straw. 

“Oh, yes,” Kay complained as he took a seat between Saw and Baze. “Let’s all just hold our meetings by pools. Not like some of us lack the genetics for this climate,” he looked at Jyn for sympathy here.

Pulling down her shades, Jyn taunted, “I’m feeling marvelous, Kay. But I don’t sweat like you…” 

Bodhi took the seat nearest her; pointing down to his drink, “A Pina Colada. Ever tried one? Have to admit, I saw someone drinking one and just told the bartender I wanted whatever came in the coconut. Pretty good, though! Lot of rum… what are you drinking?” 

Jyn snarked, “The blood of lesser men!”  
  
“What does that taste like,” asked Bodhi. 

Jyn passed her drink over—trading for Bodhi’s coconut. Taking a long drink, Jyn told Bodhi, “That’s pretty much all rum: rum and lots of sugar!”  
  
Bodhi smacked his lips together after sipping the Bloody Mary; making a gagging noise with his tongue, “What even is that taste—“ 

They traded drinks back and Jyn explained, “Tobacco.”  
  
“And you’re drinking that on purpose?”  
  
Jyn redirected her attention over Bodhi; where Cassian had taken a lounge chair and seemed to be enjoying just watching the swimmers in the pool. Jyn purposefully included him, “What’s Cassian drinking?” Some golden-brown liquid out of a martini glass.  
  
She could tell he’d been listening—at the sound of his name, his neck tensed as he resisted the urge to immediately turn to do her bidding. Forcibly casual, he asked, “What was that? Did I hear my name—”?

Bodhi pointed down to Cassian’s drink, “What is that? It looks cool… like what a spy would drink. In the movies!”  
  
Cassian shrugged; taking a long sip, “I think the bartender called it, ‘a Hemingway’. “  
  
Jyn and Bodhi traded grins; taking the coconut back, Jyn watched Bodhi wrestle the drink out of Cassian’s grasp. But the taste seemed to be lacking for the younger man, “I… I don’t think it’s alcoholic. Tastes funny, though… like leaves.” 

Jyn’s brow wrinkled. Bodhi slapped away Cassian’s hand as Jyn helped herself to a sip, “You’re sipping iced tea? In a fancy hotel, by the pool, you’ve asked for iced tea in a martini glass?”

  
Cassian admitted, “And I tip the bartender very nicely if I get to use the James Bond glass—“  
  
Jyn and Bodhi looked at each other and snorted; elbowing the other to stop—but only making them both laugh louder. Bodhi told her, “I was too young to drink last time I was in L.A. I’ve decided I’ll be trying all the hip drinks this time around!” 

Jyn gave back Cassian’s drink, “All the iced tea you can drink, Bodhi!”  
  
“Meetings. We were all in meetings and I wasn’t going to be rude and refuse drinks. But wanted to not be stoned by 6 o’clock,” explained Cassian a bit peeved at having to explain being a professional to them both. “Kay does pretty much the same thing.”

“Untrue,” Kay informed the group. “At industry functions, I order my usual gin and tonic; asking for more ice than usual. Therefore, I am equal parts drinking but also keeping hydrated.”

Baze observed, “In my day, the highlight of being a musician was the excuse to drink all day. We were able to handle it—“

“These new pop acts can’t handle it,” Saw mocked the group. “Lifestyle is too much drugs, too much drinking, too much sex for them.”

Jyn ignored the wriggling of Cassian’s eyebrows in her direction.

Saw continued, “Or with your daddy and me—“ he addressed to Jyn. “During the war, we’d find out where we were playing an hour before curtain. The sirens would be going off in London, but you played on—knowing the next bomb could be landing right on stage with you. They didn’t pay us if we packed up and left. The Blitz made us tough!” 

“New acts are too soft,” Baze agreed. “And presumptuous. We had been holding a private meeting.”

Kay had the humility to blush at the notion the Rebels might be unwelcome, “We just assumed you were chilling…. And he—“ Kay pointed accusingly to Cassian now. “Spotted Jyn. A bit of a crush there—“

Jyn was glad to be wearing thick sunglasses in that moment; sipping her drink unamused. Silently praying to a higher power that someone got to throw Kay into the pool later on. And that someone might just be her!  
  
Cassian exclaimed, “KAY! Enough—“

“It’s ridiculously well-known at this point. One might suggest the pining pathetic by now, however: I’m confident we’ll get some good music out of this fiasco,” Kay proudly alerted the senior musicians. “That does seem to be the trite story the masses crave: the failed lover and the lofty tease.”

Jyn’s free hand fisted at her side, “I am sitting right here, Kay—“ 

Kay ignored her; referring to her all the same, “I think she was the last oblivious party involved.” 

Bodhi raised his hand, “I didn’t know—“ 

Saw cleared his throat, “As the elder here, I suppose it would be my responsibility to offer up guidance,” he drained the last of his Bloody Mary and asked the men, “Who’s up for the Playboy Club? I haven’t used my membership card since it opened and am allowed four guests.”

Baze, who had never demonstrated an interest in the fairer sex, was quick to opt out, “When you see one scantily clad woman, you see them all.” 

Bodhi eagerly asked, “With, like, the Bunnies? Real Bunnies?”

“Women in underwear with bunny ears on,” Cassian told him. “Not bunny-bunnies, Bodhi—“ 

“WELL I KNOW THAT!”

Kes stammered, “I have a girlfriend. I mean, we’re on break at the moment. She’s doing her thing in Baltimore (which I’m completely cool with! Not worried at all!) and I’m supposed to keep experiencing every moment of my own journey in turn. Shara says if our journeys merge again, it was meant to be…” Kes looked around the group defensively, “But I still consider myself a _soon-to-be_ happily engaged man!”  
  
Kay observed, “What’s the harm? It’s not like they’re all-out sex workers.” 

“They aren’t prostitutes, are they? I don’t want to be a creep,” gulped Bodhi. 

Kay patronized Bodhi with, “I’m sure they are all skilled laborers working through college. Not semi-professional sex workers being gawked at by middle-aged perverts.” 

“Playboy Bunnies aren’t good enough for you, Kay,” Jyn asked.  
  
Kay glanced burdensomely in her direction, “I have a very particular ranking system. For example, you would be a—“

“I’ll pass,” Cassian offered the group with a well-timed interruption. “Maybe catch a movie or something.”

Jyn’s stomach leaped as she imagined going to the movies. With Cassian. Ducking down in their seats and watching—there wasn’t often an opportunity for seeing movies on the road. _Sound of Music_ was probably the most popular film in theatres; everyone praising it to the rafters. But Jyn couldn’t resist the new Jane Fonda movie: a comedy/western whose posters showed a tight pants cowgirl waving her guns about. Jyn was so engrossed in mapping out her scheme, she almost missed Saw dashing her plan. 

Saw disputed Cassian’s attempt with, “Nah—I’m taking all you young men.” He pointed at Kes, at Bodhi, Kay, landing on Cassian for the longest time. “Think of it as a male-bonding experience!”  
  
Sighing heavily, Jyn noted, “I’m guessing I am not going to be attending the Club with you, Saw; to watch the lot of you gawk at beautiful women?”

Saw nodded, “Both your parents would have my head if I took you to see Playboy Bunnies—“

“Bit much for this whole ‘godfather/goddaughter’ relationship,” agreed Jyn. Jyn hated being pitied; of anyone worrying about her as she was cast aside to leer at lovely California girls. So she quickly lied, “I have plans tonight, anyway.”  
  
She gave vague responses of where, who, when—leaving the hotel when the men gathered outside to flag-down a taxi. She pointedly messed with her handbag when Cassian attempted to make eye contact as he was pushed into a cab by Saw.  
  
“Gonna have fun with that one,” Saw told Jyn with a wink. 

Jyn groaned, “Be nice!”  
  
Saw scratched the back of his neck, “Haven’t had a lot of opportunities to weed-off your admirers. Safe to assume you’d be weaving through them like Lyra did. Christ, your daddy is still so out of his league! It’s a wonder I’ve not gotten to do this before—”

“Because I’ve been very careful to keep my personal-life in the dark for some reason,” Jyn excused; ducking into another taxi. She told the driver she wanted to sightsee the strip—asking to not follow the taxi carrying the men and instead take her the back way.  
  
In the fifth bar she’d poked into, on her third cocktail, Han emerged from a backroom. He noticed her instantly, bounding over to the bar and demanding, 

“You got my stuff, right?”

“Pardon,” Jyn challenged; arching an eyebrow at him. Entertainment so low, she thought about pretending she’d never met him before. It would be a lark to see how far she could take it—but Han actually seemed serious for once.

Han waved a hand through the air, “My stuff. Left it in Kay’s car and—“ 

“That was days ago. Kay thought you’d be collecting next morning.” Jyn alerted him. “What have you been doing?”

Han smirked; lifting a drink into the air, “Selling a screenplay. Romancing the ladies. Losing all of my first paycheck from the movie studio in questionable dealings. Making a couple new enemies. What have you been doing?”

Jyn gulped as she thought back to runting around her motel room with Cassian. Dryly, she told Han, “I’ve been unpacking. Settling in. Had my first meeting at Alliance Records today.”

“And only now getting out on the town,” Han seemed unimpressed. “Alone. Lucky for you, I’ve got this whole town figured out already. Know it like the back of my hand… is that a mole,” he spit on the mark; rubbing off a speck of dirt.

Jyn shook her head, “I’m only going to finish this drink and head back. Didn’t want everyone to think I was a square retiring early.”

“Ah—so what’s _everyone_ doing tonight?”  
  
Jyn smirked; making sure to watch Han’s expression as she said, “They’ve been invited to the Playboy Club . Gorgeous women fawning over them—manly debauchery in every dimly lite corner.”  
  
With a lopsided grin, Han told her, “I’ve already been kicked out of the Playboy Club. Banned for life. Believe you me, not all it’s cracked up to be. Really doubt the boyfriend’s enjoying himself.”

Jyn choked on her drink; coughing wildly into a hand as her eyes watered, “…what?”

“Your boyfriend,” Han clarified. “You guys are working this whole overdrawn ‘ _will they or won’t they_ ’ game, but I figured it out pretty early on.” 

Jyn surmised. “Han, you might not be as dumb as you look! No one else even seems to suspect it’s reciprocal—”

“Really? But it’s so obvious! You two bickering all the time,” Han waved his drink through the air. “And you’re, like, always under his skin. Guy like that probably thrives on being ‘put out’. Am I right?” 

Jyn thought about Cassian Andor and shook her head, “That doesn’t sound like him. And we don’t argue that much. Maybe a little bit—”

Han released a huff, “I’m not knocking a little antagonistic foreplay. I bet the sex is un-fricken-believable afterwards. Though you could do better. Really! And petite brunettes aren’t even my type.”

“Which one do you think I’m currently shagging,” Jyn requested; already feeling dread because she had a suspicion Han was misinformed. Not a shock! 

“Kay,” Han replied. “Gingerly, limey, bastard. But probably a great shag if he’s keeping your interest—“  
  
Jyn resisted the urge to vomit and laughed instead; throwing her head backwards and crowing, “Wrong! Oh, you are so wrong, Han, and it’s horrible… to even imagine _that_ man in bed—“  
  
Han smirked, “I’ll make it up to you: let me show you the town!”

Han’s understanding of all Los Angles had to offer was… limited. Stunted in his own interests. But Jyn didn’t mind ending her evening at a strip club; savoring the restricted-zone in their culture that seemed to broadcast ‘men only’. Besides, Jyn could more than appreciate a shapely female form. Maybe that came from her painter mother? Lyra’s easy, flowing forms on the canvas? Because Jyn’s eyes followed the curvy shapes of the strippers in awe; whistling with Han when the loveliest woman she’d ever seen exited the stage after her dance; a final wave of farewell before disappearing behind the glittering beaded curtain. 

“It’s strange,” Jyn pondered aloud; sipping her… sixth cocktail? Or seventh? Enough to know she shouldn’t even be ‘sipping’ at this point. “I only want to fuck men—but I cannot imagine watching a man strip could be as fun as this. Male bodies are so sharp and pointed. Good for my… other _purposes,_ but not worthy of intense ogling or adulation.”

Han excitedly agreed, “And how would a guy even whip around booby tassels?” 

“On his cock,” Jyn guessed; lowering her sunglasses when an older woman entered the stage with a cigarette between her teeth and hairspray holding a tower of hair over her—draped in a feather boa. And only a feather boa. She swayed to the spacey beat. Jyn informed Han, “I need to be wearing more feathers in my life!” 

Han eyed her up and down; grinning like a jackass, “You are stoned, my dear. Completely, utterly, STONED.”  
  
The older beauty sashayed towards their table; puffing an elegant trail of smoke out of the side of her mouth as she skimmed a hand over Han’s hair—focusing on Jyn instead. Han groaned his disappointment as Jyn got the dance; the feather’s tickling under her nose as the dancer seduced her. A perkier ass than even Jyn had, hovered in the air; gliding as the dancer wrapped the boa around Jyn neck.

“— _Seven Veils_ got nothing on you,” Jyn assured the dancer; referencing the biblical seductive dance—but the woman’s smile grew strained. The dancer was already moving away from Jyn and towards a table of middle-aged men instead.  
  
Jyn fumbled to attach a couple dollars to the woman’s G-string as Han cleared his throat, “Okay, I’m taking you home now!”

Jyn struggled as Han moved them to the door, “I’m not going ‘home’ with you.” 

“Didn’t offer,” Han nudged her into a nearby taxi. “I’m taking you back to your motel, depositing you _alone_ in your room, and going to remember that picking up chicks with another chick is a match made in hell!”  
  
Jyn watched the rows of clubs and dance halls disappear as the taxi started to move, “Do you think I saw more tits tonight than they did at the Playboy Club?” 

Han replied, “I can guarantee you see more tits on a daily basis than they ever— the Playboy Club’s a fucking joke. A place middle-class, married, stockbrokers can go while out of town to feel ‘naughty’. Something the little wifey will never know about. But you can’t even talk to a girl there without feeling they’re assessing you to see if you’re rich enough to over-tip. Which is their livelihood and all but… I’d sort of rather be liked for me.”  
  
Jyn scrutinized Han’s face for any signs of a bluff before teasing, “Gee—you might be a sucker in the wait, huh? Wanting a nice girl just to like you!”  
  
“Don’t we all just want to be liked for ourselves,” Han shrugged casually. “Plus, you grope one ass at the Playboy Club, and you’re banned for life? Who conducts business like that? And I had planned on being a big tipper that night!“  
  
Naturally with her luck, Kay was waiting in the lobby; smoking a cigarette and pacing as Han helped her out of the taxi. 

“What are you doing with her,” demanded Kay frostily. He than turned to Jyn with distaste, “This was your evening’s plan? To be pawed at by this low-life?”  
  
Han whispered in her ear, “Are you sure you two aren’t—“  
  
“My heads fuzzy, Han. Don’t make me throw-up as well,” Jyn steadied herself against the wall.  
  
“Jyn Erso is off-limits,” Kay tersely informed Han.  
  
Han held out his hands in surrender, “Understood. Now, can I get my bags out of your car? And maybe crash in your room tonight?”  
  
Kay puffed in annoyance, “Of course you will not be crashing in my—“ 

“You can crash in mine,” Jyn offered; feeling unduly friendly with Han now. Jyn shifted her balance from one foot to the other in test. “I might actually need the assistance to—“

“She can barely walk,” Kay marched towards Jyn; shouldering her weight. “What were you planning to do with a young woman who can’t walk?”

“You caught me,” Han teased. “I planned on putting said girl to bed; and than seeking your hot-bod out.”  
  
Jyn announced proudly, “Han took me to the best strip club on the strip and I’ve seen more tits than you!”

  
Kay mumbled under his breath; shaking his head in disbelief. Han continued to find the situation amusing; mocking Kay with, “So you were waiting up for her? That’s interesting… almost maternal.”

“I wasn’t waiting up for her,” Kay hissed. “Within an hour at the club, Saw took Cassian elsewhere. I haven’t seen or heard from him since! Cassian could be stranded in a strange city. Or be dead somewhere with a needle sticking out of his arm—“

“Or walking up the sidewalk,” Han crocked his head to the landscaped path—sure enough, a form had emerged. Tie and jacket missing—shoes off in his hands. But Cassian was alive. Terrified looking, but alive. Jyn squealed with delight as he approached the group. 

“I missed you,” Jyn assured him; earning confused stares from all three men in return. “I went to several fun bars. And Han took me to this strip club called ‘ _the Zodiac_ ’. But the whole time, really—the whole time—all I thought about was how much fun you’d be having too! What did you do tonight?”

Cassian shuddered, “I got kidnapped by your psychotic godfather who took me to an opium den in an abandoned office complex – we didn’t do any of it,” Cassian promised both Jyn and Kay. “Nope. We played cards. Saw wanted to see if I was a good ‘bluffer’. Which I am. Got to win a couple rounds before the amassed group found cards boring and decided to play some Russian roulette instead. Anyone here know what that entails? Someone I barely knew pulled out a revolver and everyone proceeded to pass it around; loading a single bullet into one of the chambers before pulling the trigger with the gun pointed to their heads.”

Han, Jyn, and Kay watched him dumbfounded; slowly approaching to calm him.  
  
“I won,” Cassian informed the group. “Scared those lunatics out of their skulls. Doubt any of them will ever mess around with loaded firearms again. I had to out crazy the crazies…”  
  
Kay nodded for Cassian to follow him upstairs; directing Jyn there as well—all three anchored to the dank lobby again when Han cleared his throat.

“Look, I’m not trying to downplay Andor’s ordeal,” Han announced. “But I really do need my bags out of your car.” 

Kay moved Jyn to Cassian’s arms; bringing his car keys out of a pocket and ringing them through the air, “Let’s be quick about this, Solo.” 

Han smirked, “Absolutely… roomie!”

Jyn and Cassian climbed the stairwell in silence; holding each other with shaking support. When they reached their floor, Jyn edged them towards Cassian’s room; leaning against the wall to watch him unlock the door. Dropping the keys when his hand shook. They drifted inside together. Jyn kicked off her heels at the door as Cassian carefully unlaced his dress shoes—arranging both pairs of shoes in a line before he undressed. Jyn dragged herself to the bed; sitting to roll off her nylons as she eyed Cassian bending over to search the dresser in his boxer shorts. There was an eerie domesticity in this scene: the man clad in an undershirt, boxers, and socks. His buttocks flexing as he dug deeper through the dresser.

  
“You’re worthy of intense ogling, Cassian!”  
  
Cassian regarded her over his shoulder. Slowly, a smile stretched across his worn face, “Likewise.”  
  
He was only capable of finding a comfortably faded pajama top. A light blue striped cotton fabric that he dropped in her lap; falling over on the bed in defeat. His legs kicking into the air as he wiggled to find the closest pillow.

In all his search, Jyn had never considered the mission was for her own benefit. She abandoned her dress and slip on the foot of the bed. Buttoning the over-sized pajama top over her skin. She crawled across the bed—Cassian (revealing himself not yet asleep) flipped up the comforter in invitation.  
  
“Sorry things got weird with Saw,” Jyn admitted as she wiggled under the covers. She wrapped her arms around Cassian to attempt ‘comfort’. Fumbling into the strange territory of just how to show someone they were safe and cared for.  
  
“Does he do that often?”  
  
Jyn shrugged; the PJ top falling off her shoulder, “Consider yourself lucky: I don’t think he thinks that I think you’re attractive.” 

Cassian mumbled back a sarcastic, “Lucky me.”  
  
Hesitantly, Jyn smoothed a hand along his face; wiping a layer of sweat from his forehead as brown eyes blinked open only to lock shut again. Cassian arched into the touch; humming under his breath. He rolled over. Coiling arms around Jyn and sighing into her hair.

“I don’t want to ever have one-on-one time with Saw again,” Cassian muffled into her neck.

Jyn promised him, “You won’t. I’ll make sure of it.”

 

* * *

 

** Friday Morning:  **

 

Jyn awoke to an earsplitting ringing. The motel room’s phone jumped atop the end table next to the bed. Weakly, Jyn dragged an arm towards the vibration – smacking against the bare skin of Cassian’s chest instead. Finding herself blocked, Jyn sank back against the sheets and murmured to her bedmate,  
  
“You’re closer.”  
  
Cassian rolled away from the table; pulling her into his chest in a failed attempt to shield them both from the interruption, “It will stop soon.” 

“Yank the sodden cord out of the wall,” Jyn urged as she burrowed against him. The phone seemed to chime louder and louder – but that may have been the after effects of a few too many the night before. Where she’d listened to Saw map-out his ideas for a new record at a bar well into the early morning.  
  
“Ignore it,” Cassian drawled; lazily kissing her throat.  
  
Jyn huffed; rolling over Cassian to snatch the phone off the hook—

  
“Yes,” a groggy Jyn uttered against the mouthpiece; fighting back a yawn.

And a terse Kay screeched back, “Why are _YOU_ answering Cassian’s phone?”  
  
Blinking rapidly, Jyn surveyed the room. Much more organized than her own hole-in-the-wall. No towels littering the floor; or empty food containers piled over the table top – just last night’s party dress and panties dangling from the dresser. The aged guitar with the faded pattern of a rose propped against a lone armchair certainly wasn’t her shiny red Gibson. The crisp, freshly pressed, blue suit hanging from the bathroom door would have been much more typical bunching around her room’s floor than waiting for whatever outing Cassian had planned for today.  
  
Blocking off the phone receiver with the heel of her hand, Jyn observed to Cassian, “This is your room… how did I end up here?”

“You showed up,” Cassian mumbled into his pillow. “I was prepared to call it an early night for once. Then you came knocking. Had my pants off before the door even closed…”

Jyn scowled; trying to recollect memories of last night…. But Kay’s voice filtered out of her hand. 

“Not that it’s any of you business, Kay,” Jyn declared stiffly into the phone. “But I’ve stopped by to ask Cassian for some fresh towels. The maid keeps forgetting to leave any new ones—“ 

Kay granted through the device, “The staff here is wildly incompetent!” 

“Wildly so,” Jyn acceded the man. She looked down at Cassian, now raised on his elbows and listening to the conversation with a pleased smirk. “Cassian’s just coming out of the bathroom with my towels… I should be heading!” 

Kay implored, “You really should talk to the front desk. You can’t always rely on Cassian to supply you towels.”

“Very true,” Jyn said. “Thank you, Kay, for that solid advice.”  
  
“Are you feeling alright,” demanded the man on the other line.

“Wonderful,” said Jyn. “Got to dash! Here’s Cassian –“ Jyn shoved the receiver into Cassian’s hand; edging out of the bed and slapping his hand away.

“AHhh-ha,” Cassian replied against the receiver. “Oh, absolutely! Completely agree…” Jyn fasten her bra in place, seeking her knickers hanging from the dresser door, when Cassian groaned in frustration; blocking the phone with his shoulder to inform Jyn, “There’s really no need to get dressed this early. Come back to bed—“

  
“Nope,” said Jyn; stumbling when her feet caught on Cassian’s discarded trousers. “If anyone alive can _hear_ naked, it’s Kay!”  
  
Cassian grumbled in a whisper, “Kay can’t hear naked, Jyn. Even if he could, what does it matter?”  
  
Jyn was saved from answering when Kay’s yammering grew louder against Cassian’s shoulder. Jyn heard the high-pitched humming of Kay’s accented voice—

meaning Cassian actually had to place the phone against his ear and offer up comments of agreement, “I already said ‘alright’, Kay. It’s a great opportunity—“

Jyn stepped into her slip and hovered to catch further tidbits. Something ‘big’ was going on, at least for the Rebels. When Cassian patted on the bed next to him, Jyn moved to sit again; leaning against his shoulder to hear the last of Kay’s rant,  
  
“The only album we’ve cut was recorded in that shack! I kept pushing that we’d get to record here: why did they even ask us to come back if we’re not even cutting a new album? But Draven said it’s fine! Materials solid! Get back on the road—“ 

Cassian was studying her expression with an upturned eyebrow. Jyn just shrugged casually. This is what they did: recorded, toured, only to get to record again. There was an endless pattern to their livelihood. She wasn’t childish enough to be upset by this. Besides, if Saw’s album dropped when projected, she’d be out on the road again too.  
  
“We’re doing fine,” Cassian said to combat Kay’s natural pessimism. He intently looked at Jyn when he repeated into the phone, “We’re doing fine.”  
  
Jyn nodded her agreement. They were all doing fine. And they’d be _fine_ —wherever they ended up next.  
  
The plastic of the phone crashed back to the end table; echoing across the small space.

Cassian wrapped his arms around Jyn; pulling her closer with a fond little smile, “What are you doing tonight, beautiful?”

Jyn sighed; feigning to be deep in thought before teasing, “You, probably!” 

“But before that,” pressed Cassian; trying to mask his excitement. “Not only are the Rebels performing tonight on _American Bandstand_ , but Kay says we’re allowed to bring guests.” 

“Who else is going?” 

Cassian looked disappointed for a moment; eyes flickering to the far wall as he recovered to explain, “Bodhi, Kay, me—and hopefully you; waiting in the green room to tell us what you thought?”  
  
“Just me,” asked Jyn; resting her chin on his bare shoulder. 

Nodding, Cassian made himself clear, “You would (essentially) be my plus-one. My date. You might even be seen holding my hand afterwards. If I’m lucky.”

Jyn stretched like a cat over the bed; taking the man with her, “Plan on throwing in a meal?“

 

* * *

 

 **Friday Evening** :

 

Saw thundered into Jyn’s room announcing, “I cannot work for these people!”  
  
Jyn stopped fumbling with an earring to watch her godfather pace the length of the motel room. “They don’t understand,” Saw seethed. “They refuse to understand my vision! And I refused to just cut a new album for mass consumption. There was Draven, sly as can be, telling me: ‘ _we appear to be at in impasse_ ’. No shit, man!”  
  
Within minutes of their meeting, Saw had ripped his contract with Alliance Records to shreds and stormed out of the building; driving to the motel to collect Jyn and Kes like children who’d missed the bus from school.

“We’re leaving this shithole,” Saw sat Jyn’s suitcase on the bed. Jyn crossed her arms in defiance when Saw proceeded to pack for her—tossing spare clothes into the case without any folding. When Jyn gave no reaction, Saw cast his eyes upward; taking in Jyn’s golden dress and her hair pulled into an elegant knot. “… did you have plans to visit the Galleria? What’s with the get-up?”

“I think I look nice,” Jyn smoothed out a crease in the fabric and smiled. “The Rebels are on _American Bandstand_ tonight and—“

Saw muttered, “But none of them are American…”

“True,” Jyn nodded. “But they are becoming a popular act in America.” Jyn straightened her back to inform Saw, “I was invited to watch from the green room. By Cassian.”  
  
Struggling with this development, Saw sat on the edge of her bed; shaking his head and running a hand over his tired eyes. “Sorry to spoil this little love affair of yours,” Saw decided on; seeming now strained at being delayed a moment longer from his impulse to flee. “But I’m giving you the choice: stay and be arm candy; or come with me and be a legend.”

Jyn worried her lip, “It doesn’t always have to be either/or, Saw. None of the Rebels are like that. Cassian isn’t like that.”  
  
Saw laughed bitterly at that, “I’ve played this game a long time, kid. It hasn’t changed that much.”

Jyn glared at the man; crossed arms flaring as she headed for the bathroom—moving back into the room to dump toiletries onto the rising heap of clothes in her suitcase. Regretfully, she told Saw, “You know what the answer is, then?”

Saw nodded, “I do. Just wanted to make sure you knew too. I’ll grab Kes—but I plan of booking it out of L.A. within the hour!”  
  
Jyn turned over her suitcase; dumping the mess back to the bed as she haphazardly attempted to fold and pack—grunting in frustration until it reached the point she had to downright scream in the empty space. She took hold of the first item by the bed and flung it against the wall; the motel’s dusty glass shattering into pieces. Jyn then crouched; picking up the splinters of glass with her bare hands because she hated the idea of a blameless maid having to clean up the destruction. Perhaps this was a fitting metaphor for Jyn: the glass, that first appeared to have started something _good_ , now so easily vanquished; all because it came into contact with Jyn.  
  
Keenly aware of time, Jyn searched every inch of the motel room for any loose items she’d discarded. It wasn’t much, but Jyn liked to imagine it bought her a few seconds more. In minutes, maybe, the Rebels would be coming through the doors after their rehearsal. Or Cassian would phone to make sure she knew the address for tonight. She understood enough of her own stubbornness to know seeing Cassian wouldn’t change the course she was taking. But they both deserved a face-to-face goodbye. This time around, she wanted to tell him she was going; that she’d have gone to _American Bandstand_ and clapped loudest after their set – had it been in her power to stay. But Saw was an impenetrable force; so strong that Jyn orbited him like a humble planet. Basking in whatever Saw sent her way. Putting all her faith in the path Saw planned for them all. 

In the end, Jyn only found a necktie in the deep reaches under her bed; a bottle- green color. Thin, in a European style that Cassian seemed to favor. She dangled the tie over her case, daring herself to pocket the misplaced neckwear and claim it as a little souvenir of her trip to L.A. Something she could fish-out when she met the Rebels again to taunt Cassian with. Jyn ended up sitting atop her closed suitcase and studying the tie; smelling experimentally to see if it bore traces of Cassian’s spicy aftershave. It was embarrassingly sentimental. Something saps wrote about; constructed entire ballads about an epic love affair centered around ‘ _he smelled of_______.’ For whatever reason, the necktie didn’t smell like Cassian. Maybe too new? Something he’d barely worn before it got castaway during their nightly romps.  
  
Because the tie carried no smell, and offered up no memories besides the one’s Jyn already held close at heart, she stopped at Cassian’s motel room door. Threading the thin tie between his door handle in what she hoped would come off as playful—not abandoning. The necktie dangled like a little gibe; relaying the message ‘ _another time_ ’. Jyn marched towards the elevator, nodding her commitment to Saw and Kes as the doors swept open. _Another time_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music References/ Playlist for this chapter:
> 
> ‘A Change Is Gonna Come’ by Sam Cooke


	5. Summer's Here

Jyn charged up the backstairs of the apartment she was renting by the week in Greenwich Village, very aware her door was cracked open as the needle of her hi-fi scratched when a record was abruptly discarded and replaced.

Strange behavior for a thief, rapist, or whatever haunted her parents’ nightmares about their daughter’s safety in New York.

Locating the cricket bat by the door (a gift from her mum for security purposes), Jyn craned her neck to view a figure in bell bottoms and a flowing white shirt swaying across the narrow room—knocking over the makeshift end table (a former delivery box) as she sung off-key,  


“ _Callin’ out around the world_  
_Are you ready for a brand new beat?_  
_Summer’s here and the time is right  
__For dancin’ in the street!_ ”

  
The voice was, unmistakably, Leia Organa’s. Even if plaid skirts and braids had been traded in for the trendy ensemble of a hippie chick. Jyn was beyond impressed with the transformation. Smirking as she watched Leia thumbing through the vast collection of records. Behind her back, Jyn dropped the bat by the door.

“Where did you learn how to pick locks?” Jyn greeted her friend’s early arrival. Jyn turned back over her end table, taking the time to sort through a stack of mail and notes; sure she could locate the physical proof she’d taken Leia’s one request seriously. “I wrote down your arrival time and everything—“

“ _Caught a red-eye out of Kansas last night…. Or, would that be today?_ ” Leia continued to answer in a sing-song voice; matching the rhythm of the song—but rushing to fit her conversation into the meter.

Jyn headed for an ancient icebox in search for something to offer her guest. “Kansas? What were you doing all the way out there?”

Leia grimaced; ignoring Jyn’s question to instead sing, “ _Told your landlord I knew you, planned to meet you, and he just let me right in! You need to get a new apartment! Especially in New York City! Seriously, Jyn: I could have been anyone. Guy didn’t ask a thing._ ”

All Jyn could locate was a questionable bottle of brown liquor. She unscrewed the top to sniff, “Leave poor Louie alone! He’s fine—and you can use this authoritative voice that makes us lesser mortals anxious!”

Leia sang out, “ _Louie needs to get a backbone! – Coffees on the windowsill!_ ” Leia rocked her hips to the side, twisting towards two take-out cups by the window.

Jyn sank onto her trundle bed. Sighing appreciatively as she smelled the fresh coffee, “You are an absolute rock, Leia. Do you know that?”

Leia sang again with the music, “ _This is an invitation across the nation, a chance for folks to meet_ —and discuss the institutionalism of sexism in the American consumer market; which enforces archaic domestic roles for women—“

“I thought your protest was about the war?” Jyn pondered aloud as she knocked her head back to gulp the coffee greedily.

Leia waved a hand leisurely through the air, “Women Against Violence. The atrocities of the war in Vietnam will be covered—as will violence against female protesters over the past year. Especially female minorities—“

“What have I gotten myself into today?” After a late-night recording session with Saw that ran into the morning hours, Jyn could just as easily fall asleep than attend any sort of civil protest.  
  
The world was absolute shit. But, for all Jyn saw, no one was going to take any notice of a couple of women in their twenties broadcasting the fact in Washington Square Park. It was much easier in New York to keep your eyes focused on the sidewalk and walk on.

Leia pointed to the watch on her wrist, “We’re late, by the way! I’ve got to give the speech for kick-off—“

Of course she did! Jyn groaned, obediently following Leia out the door and back into the Village streets.

The scene of Washington Square Park was a surprise. Where Jyn had anticipated a handful of young women huddled together under the arch, she would never have guessed pushing through a crowd of hundreds—and all ages! Jyn saw just as many graying hairs as capaciously hairsprayed bouffants; as shaggy manes of the counterculture flowing in the breeze. Trendy Uptown mothers clutched their daughters’ hands. One Uptown woman of means held a sign ‘ _Not a Breeder for Men’s Wars_ ’ in one hand, her child’s in the other.

And the diversity of New York was never so prevalent as when Jyn walked through Blacks, Latinas, Asians, and more as Leia marched them towards the stage.

The women of New York, and all its boroughs, had answered the call to arms. Toting signs urging a revolution to finally begin.  

“Ah, Shara Bey—“ Leia called backward to Jyn; cracking her neck towards the stage.

The folk singing Guatemalan beauty sat calmly on a stool centerstage; strumming her guitar and declaring into the microphone,  


_“—I’m sitting here just contemplatin’_  
_I can’t twist the truth, it knows no regulation_  
_Handful of senators don’t pass legislation_  
_And marches alone can’t bring integration_  
_When human respect is disintegratin’_  
This whole crazy world is just too frustratin’—“  


Folk, from Jyn’s experience in the English countryside, was traditional (soulless) renditions about county faires and the like. Every once and awhile a bawdy sex joke thrown in to make sure people were listening still. But Shara sang accusations out to the gathered activists, suggesting they weren’t quite doing enough for world peace. That, even today’s protest, wasn’t enough to bring about actual change. So dark a message was delivered with complete warmth and charisma, Jyn doubted anyone else could get away with starting a protest on such a morbid note.

Long curly hair bounced through the air as Shara kept going,  


_“Think of all the hate there is in Red China_  
_Then take a look around to Selma, Alabama_  
_You may leave here for four days in Space,_  
_But when you return it’s the same old place_  
_The pounding of the drums, the pride—the disgrace_  
_You can bury your dead, but don’t leave a trace_  
Hate your next-door neighbor, but don’t forget to say Grace  


_And tell me:  
_ _Over and over and over and over again, my friend_

_You don’t believe  
_ _We’re on the Eve of Destruction_

_No, no, no—you don’t believe  
_ _We’re on the Eve of Destruction.”_

 

Hoots and applause sounded as Shara ended her song; a quick bow before announcing, “We’ve got a visitor now from England to get things really started. Ladies and chicks, please welcome Leia Organa to the stage!”

Jyn fidgeted to the side of the stage as Leia began her speech—and Shara Bey materialized by her side. Sensing the awkwardness, Shara smiled kindly at Jyn before focusing her attention back to the speech.

Leia projected over the crowd, “—Today, we make a stand as a united body for the Universe. Declaring that the women of this world will no longer turn a blind-eye to the violence inflicted for the betterment of third-party interests. All ethnicities, all ages, are here to stand united in the hope that human life means more than the Generals in Vietnam feeling like they’re ‘winning’ against a nation who refused to bend to foreign aggressors’ rules. Or so the status quo of the American South can prevail. Women make human life not to have it exploited in conflicts, but for it to expand into greater knowledge and compassions for the future of our planet!”

“Your song was interesting,” Jyn babbled to Shara uncomfortably. “I never thought Folk sounded like that.”

Shara’s dark eyes darted down to the smaller woman’s, “What do you mean?”

Defensively, Jyn declared, “Modern. Relevant. Angry—“

“I am angry,” Shara admitted in a level sweeping voice—that made her sound anything but. “Aren’t we all?”

Jyn shrugged, “Think I’ve given up that any difference can be made. We’re just set to be reliving the same conflicts over and over again. Wasn’t that the point of your song?”

“You misunderstood,” claimed Shara in an airy voice. “The song’s about thinking globally. Not focusing on one individual conflict that bothers us, but looking at the widespread issues. We’ve got to stop thinking of things as only ‘their problem’ and unite to discover the human cause of all this turmoil. Far out, ya dig?”

Jyn nodded; not completely convinced she ‘ _digged_ ’ the distinction.  
  
Out of nowhere, Shara asked, “What’s your sign?”  
  
“I usually just sign things with my name: Jyn. J…Y…. N.”

Shara laughed good naturedly, “Not into astrology then? Okay: birthday! What’s your birthday?

“... October 27th, 194—”  
  
Shara nodded knowingly, “Should have known: a Scorpio.”  
  
Scorpio. Recalling the cautionary tale of the scorpion and the frog, Jyn decided (whatever it meant) it probably worked well for her. “So what can I expect from life, being a Scorpio?” asked Jyn with a grin. “Am I destined for greatness— or doomed for all eternity?”

“You’re ruled by Pluto,” remarked Shara pensively. “Which my abuela claims means you’ll be fixed on a life course focused on the transformative; on regeneration. Always to be finding a new element of yourself. And Scorpios are always looking for a fight...”

“Temperamental, then?” Jyn asked cheekily; finding the notion of being a Scorpio more and more fitting.  

Shara explained, “Highly: but loyal. Stubborn and assertive. Stay clear of fire signs, you’ll destroy them! You’ll be attached to earth signs, but muddy them up. Best sex of your life will be with other water signs.”

Jyn whistled impressed, “Now: how to work that into conversation with all my future lovers?”

“Scorpios are fierce. Intense and always ready for a fight. Passionate and loyal to their tightknit group. Not always liked, but always admired. Zealous— easily jealous…”

“Sounds about right in pinpointing all my faults,” voiced Jyn still wondering how to locate men who are ‘water signs’. Figuring she might have to learn something about astrology now...  

Shara, without provocation, defended Jyn from herself, “Loyalty is important. And Scorpios are very ‘security minded’; and not only for their own safety, but those they love. No one with a Scorpio as a friend or lover has any room to complain. That’s all I’m saying!”

“... And you are?”

“Aquarius. We’re a bunch of eccentrics and crazies. But an Aquarius, living in the age of Aquarius like myself, makes a home and family wherever they roam.”

Their conversation stalled when Leia proclaimed into the microphone, “Today, women invade Washington Square Park in a non-violent protest of international violence and abuses dictated by governments run by men; not listening to the true will of the people!”

Non-violence: a noble pursuit. Non-violence—until the cops showed up and someone, Jyn missed who, threw a rock. Jyn heard the shattering of the cop’s visor as the scrambling started. The mob rushed inward, cramming bodies to stay and jumbling others to the ground. Hundreds of bodies battering against each other as a line of police officers pressed forward—encircling the women with their shields and nightsticks.

Jyn mirrored Shara and Leia at first, hands raised in the air as they declared, “We mean no harm!”

The uttered degree rattling as they tried to keep the chant controlled and amplified for the policemen to hear, “We mean no harm.”

“We mean no harm.”

Peace was reestablished, until Jyn watched a nightstick ram down to strike across a woman’s head.

Mayhem ensued. Women clawed towards the police for retaliation, as others attempted to help the injured woman to her feet—only to find themselves and the injured woman dragged to a waiting police van. Mothers, whatever borough they flocked from, attempted to escape the scuffle with their children flush in their arms— only to find themselves pinned inside the circle; by fellow protesters just as much as the police.  
  
Jyn’s tipping point was witnessing a young girl crying; little arms waving about in confusion and terror as they failed to find her mother’s in the mob. Jyn fought to reach the girl’s side; kneeling wobbly to promise the child, “It’s going to be okay. We’ll find your mum…”  
  
“She was right there,” the girl declared in frustration; her chin wiggling as she tried to explain the loss.

Jyn nodded her understanding; recalling being missing as a child. Reaching for Lyra’s hand before realizing she’d wandered off from her mum; searching the faces of strangers and fighting back tears. But that had been in a Department Store. A safe place, however sinister displays and other shoppers appeared in the eyes of a terrified child. It was only minutes of separation, though it felt like hours for both mother and daughter.

Jyn asked, “What’s your name?”

Leia, following Jyn, was quick to correct, “The mother’s name is more important. What’s your mother’s name?”

“Jyn was only trying to calm the kid,” noted Shara pushing after the other women.

“Mom,” the girl plainly replied.

“Great help there, Leia,” muttered Jyn out of the corner of her mouth; raising her eyebrows in challenge. “What’s your name…?”

“Ana,” peeped the child through a sob; wiggling as Shara (the tallest of the three) raised her into the air. 

  
“Ana’s mother?” Screamed Jyn over the crowd. “Anyone looking for Ana?”

“Ana,” repeated Shara directing Ana to look out over the mob for her mom.  
  
Leia was furious, “ANYONE MISSING A CHILD? DID YOU BRING A DAUGHTER? IS SHE NO LONGER WITH YOU?”

“Chill out,” hissed Jyn into Leia’s ear. “You’re freaking Ana out.”

Leia replied, “I just can’t stand parents not being there for their kids!”

That came out of nowhere. Jyn knew that statement fully deserved to be questioned, but the rapid blow of a policeman’s whistle signaled reinforcements doubled in the park.  
  
“Ana,” called a shrilled voice; a woman’s arms already reaching to dislodge her daughter from Shara.

“She’s okay,” promised Shara to the woman. But the mother already hoisted Ana on her shoulders and raced from the archway.

“You’re welcome,” Leia screamed after her. “The three of us loved protecting your child because you weren’t around..”

Jyn turned and stared at Leia, “Seriously, what’ going on?”

Jyn never got an answer. When a woman in front of the group dipped to avoid a nightstick after a verbal altercation with the police, Jyn took the full blow of the impact.

* * *

It was more surprising that Jyn had never been arrested (on any continent) than finding herself packed into a cell with Leia and Shara.

“I’ve never been arrested before,” Leia admitted with a groan; echoing Jyn’s own thoughts. “I’ve never… I’m going to have a record now.”

“Me too,” replied Jyn; pausing to ask, “Are you disappointed with yourself?”

Leia shook her head slowly, staring into space in an almost trance, “No… I feel legit now!”

Laughing, Shara bragged, “I’ve been arrested before. Not a big deal.”

“For what?” asked Jyn impressed.

Shara explained, “Public indecency. I was walking on a beach one night and wondered what the moonbeams would feel like on bare skin… turns out they highlight the fact you’re naked on a public beach. Moonbeams don’t really feel like anything, really?”

The gears in Leia’s head were turning, Timidly, she asked, “And why did you think they would?”

“I was stoned out of my mind,” admitted Shara casually.  
  
Out of nowhere, Leia announced in a rushed breath of hot air, “My dad isn’t really my dad, and my mum’s not my mum!”

“Whhhoooaa,” Shara sat up against the back of the cell. “And you’re only learning this now?”

Jyn’s mind was lapsing. She’d met the Organa’s before; several times. Formal gatherings where everyone was dressed to the nine’s and on their best behavior. Could she even get a mental picture of Mr. and Mrs. Organa? Jyn saw only a nice suit and regal gown...

“They never told me,” Leia spat out in anger. “Never thought it important. And I’m freaking out because I thought for my whole life I was British/American but I’m really just full-on American and they never told me. So every time I use a British phase or my ‘accent’ slips into conversation, I just realize I’m a complete fake!”

Jyn sensed Leia’s shell cracking, “You really want us to believe your issue here is not knowing your nationality? That’s your big concern? Leia, your parents love—”  
  
“It was after the war, supposedly. A G.I. met an American government official stationed in a transitioning Britain. G.I. got shipped back home. Government official gave birth to twins before she got her visa okayed, but died because of poor medical care,” the detached expression of Leia’s face was haunting.

Reaching out, Jyn grasped her friend’s hand, “Twins?”

“Ah ha: twins. I have a brother in Kansas. That’s why I was in Kansas,” with a hiccup, Leia gulped. “He’s got my chin. Which I was told was my great-aunt Eliza’s chin (definitely not Basil or Beatrice’s)--”

Jyn cringed at hearing Mr. and Mrs. Organa’s first names: not a good sign at all!

“Your parents love you, Leia,” Jyn said with conviction. “Maybe it was just never the right time? Maybe they were scared of losing yo…”

Leia declared testily, “The right time to inform your child they are adopted is before their tenth birthday. You tell them, they react, and everyone moves on happily. You don’t allow them to unearth the fact as an adult and expect them not to flip out!”

Shara noted, “Familia love is more than blood. There’s something in that bond that cannot be replicated—”  
  
“Then they’ll understand I love them both, but need to figure this out,” replied Leia with a whimper.

Jyn studied her friend, “You have a brother.”

“I have a brother,” Leia said squeezing Jyn’s hand tightly. “Luke. He’s shipping off to Vietnam in a couple weeks. Luke doesn’t want me to worry, because he’s always wanted to be a pilot and this is such a great opportunity for him. ...Fat chance, there!”  
  
“ERSO—” called the sergeant working the nightshift; walking the length of cells towards them. “Someone’s here to bailout JYN ERSO.”  
  
Jyn waved a hand through the bars when she recognized Kes following the officer. “ _Finally_ ,” she taunted the man.

“Good morning to you, too,” teased Kes. “And what have you been up to? Inciting a riot? Attacking a policeman—”

“A misunderstanding,” Jyn assured Kes as she draped her arms through the bars. “A very unfortunate misunderstanding. Honestly, I’m usually such a mild-mannered little woman.”

Kes scoffed at that; rolling his eyes behind the policeman’s back, “Docile. First thing that comes to mind everytime I get a call you were arrested.”

“SHUT UP!” Jyn turned to the officer with a sweet smile, “I’ve really never been arrested before. This... this doesn’t happen often.”

“Kes,” an airy voice called from the cell. Making Kes stand at attention; his neck twisting to peer behind Jyn.

With sickenly sweet reverence, Kes stammered, “ _Shara_.”

When their eyes locked, Shara rose to almost met his nose through the cell. In a buttery voice, Shara admitted, “I always knew our Aquarius hearts would find each other again.”

And Kes melted. Utterly. Uncontrollably. Melted at her words.  
  
Turning back to the officer, Kes told him, “And her. I’m bailing out Jyn Erso and Shara Bey—”  

“Hey,” Leia cried out from the cell. “You can’t leave me behind!”

Shara begged, “Please, Kes: don’t leave Leia behind.”  
  
Kes most certainly wouldn’t. Not if it displeased Shara Bey for an instant, “And _Leia_ as well.”    
  
Jyn could not hold back on hugging Kes when the cell was unlocked; stepping aside when Leia approached with an outstretched hand, “Leia Organa. Pleased to have met you. And thank you!”

“He’s Kes Dameron,” introduced Shara from the doorway of the cell. Gliding out of the cell, swaying to a beat only she and Kes could hear, Shara pressed a kiss against Kes’s cheekbone. “ _Thank you_.”

* * *

The buildings started to reflect the pinks of the approaching sunrise as Jyn and Kes sat on the stoop outside Partisan Records. Too late to go to sleep, but too early for anyone to be working inside. They passed the lag of downtime by casually sharing a cigarette.

“Shara’s in New York,” Kes muttered to himself; passing the cigarette back to Jyn. “She’s here, and I’m here. I mean, she’s the one who said if we come back together someday it’s fate.”

“Simultaneously inhabiting a city of millions counts as ‘ _coming back together_ ’ then?” Jyn countered.

Kes ignored her, “It’s fate.”

Darkly, Jyn growled back, “Fate is merely an excuse to take the many coincidences of life and mesh them together to form some false belief that there is a grandiose plan for all of us. When, in reality, we’re all just floundering about trying to find some semblance of purpose in the wreckage we leave behind.”

Kes nostrils flared, “Who broke your fucking heart? Besides, coincidences are little things: like being super hungry and finding take-out in the fridge when I got home. How long had it been there? Who knows! But it was just what I needed—“

“Maybe you shouldn’t be eating things when you don’t know how old they are?”

“—Fate is having my future wife and I—“

“Does Shara know you call her that? Would she be cool with it?" Jyn wrinkled her nose at the idea of being labeled as anyone's ' _future wife_ '.  "I just spent the night in a jail cell with her, and I really doubt she’d be comfortable—”

“My future wife and I together; in the same city. It’s like a fairytale come to life!”

“—don’t forget to tell the kids about bailing mommy out of jail.”

Kes smirked back at her, “Right along with _Auntie_ Jyn!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music References/ Playlist for this chapter:
> 
> ‘Dancing In The Streets’ by the Mamas & the Papas
> 
> ‘Eve of Destruction’ by Barry McGuire


	6. The Bridge

The performance started as a joke. Well past ‘last call’ in the tavern, but the musicians refused to yield to the bartender’s request. So Jyn took to the stage to wail into the microphone,

 

“ _WILD THING: you make my heart sing,_ __  
_You make everything grooooooozy,_   
WILD THING!”

Saw had vanished again; ideally back to his hotel room to sleep it off. In one of the many shadows, Kes and Shara were rekindling. Leaving Jyn to stew in just how alone she really was in New York City.

No words felt more hollow on her tongue then the declaration,

 

“ _Wild thing I think I love you,_ _  
_ _But I want to know for sure!_ ”

  
The hoots from the crowd proof a singer could get away with any lie if they sang them with enough enthusiasm. Or if the crowd was just about as drunk as the singer. Liquid courage, and finding nothing really to lose, Jyn even managed a wink at the journalist who’d been chatting her up all night. An article on Saw’s new record shifted to questions about _her_ . Who was Jyn Erso? Who cared!  
  
When he’d inquired after her horoscope, Jyn recognized she was being hit-on. Poorly, but it was something. Something to end the dry spell and get her juices flowing again. There was someone in this city to numb the feeling of being alone.  
  
Jyn invited the journalist back to her apartment with the justification of ‘let’s listen to some records’; ignoring the sting of her back knocking against a _new_ lock on her door when he pressed in for sloppily desperate kisses.  
  
Her ears pricked at the sound of her phone ringing; taking the welcomed excuse to push her guest away. “I’ve got to take this. Parents are overseas and…” she didn’t even continue her explanation. Just dashed to the phone and answered, “-ello!”  

“ _Do you have a gun?_ ”

“What?” croaked Jyn into the phone; smiling awkwardly as her guest paced the small length of her apartment.

“It’s Cassian,” he replied needlessly. “Do you have a gun? I’ve been watching the news all week here—“

Crossing her arms defensively, Jyn asked, “Who starts a conversation like that?”

“I do! You realize what’s going on—“

Jyn’s paced the section of apartment currently left alone by her failed sexual conquest, “Who told you? Kes? … It had to be Kes!”  
  
“Told me what?” Cassian was terrible at playing dumb. A lengthy pause on her side, and he admitted freely, “Kes told Bodhi, told Kay, told me… how’s the head?”

“You should see the other guy,” mumbled Jyn uncomfortable. Trying to make a joke. When that tactic brought only a weighted silence from the man, Jyn downplayed the event.  “... a protest got out of hand. Cop didn’t even mean to hit me. Small lump, that’s all.”

Cassian started on, “Still, you should be—”

“Look: my parents visited from England last month. I got a teapot from my dad and a cricket bat from my mum. I am all set on safety right now.” Jyn glared at the journalist as he picked up the rosebud teapot from her dad; hissing across the room, “Please: don’t—” The rosebud teapot was too personal. It was her Danish father’s joke about being a ‘proper Brit’. It was the joke the three Ersos’ laughed about. The rosebud teapot wasn’t just for _anyone_ to share in!

Cassian heard her interjection to the journalist, “Got company? I can call back.”  
  
“No, no, no,” Jyn frantically told him; not ready to cut the conversation short. Even as the journalist sighed heavily behind her. “Just listening to records with a _friend_.” She lied to the journalist, “It’s my grandmother.”

“You should get a roommate,” Cassian alerted her. “Someone to watch your back.“

Jyn replied evenly, “Yeah, but I’ve got my _friend_ Cassian freaking out in California for my well-being instead. More than set there! Tell me: have you heard about this new Rock’n’Roll fad? Making those young people drug and sex fiends? Personally, I don’t think it will last—”  
  
The journalist looked shocked, “You talk to you grandmother like _that_ ?”  
  
Jyn didn’t hear this; focused instead on Cassian’s rapid breathing.

“I called and requested another lock for your door,” he told her. “I guess the majority of the building already demanded an extra lock, so Louie had a spare on hand. He was kind of shocked you hadn’t already asked—“

“You called my landlord and requested another lock?” Jyn couldn’t decide if she was furious or intrigued by this act. “And you’re now on a first name basis with Louie? How long did you guys talk? Pals already?”  
  
“I’ll pay for it—“

“The issue isn’t the paying for it, Cassian.” Jyn laughed at his offer to ‘pay’. “Holy shit, do you think I’m going to be murdered or something?”

“...Better to be safe than sorry.”

Jyn sneered, “Thanks, Grandma!”

“Anytime! However, I’d like to be very clear,” said Cassian’s serious voice. “If I was not being held captive by my contract in L.A., I would be in that apartment right now. I would lay you on that bed—”

“It’s a trundle,” Jyn stammered. “Very narrow. Lumpy and miserable, really. But serviceable. Don’t bring that up to your old pal Louie, okay?”

“—I would lay you on that narrow bed, and go down on you for days. I’d have you panting. Glistening in an afterglow as my tongue leeps and suckles your cunt… … ... want to hear a song? Or parts of an unfinished song?”  
  
Jyn sighed heavily, “If you’re not going to continue the previous content? Then sure: I’d like to hear a song!”

“... give me one second to grab my guitar,” Jyn heard the phone receiver dropping on a surface with a thud.  
  
Jyn's legs gave out as she pooled onto the trundle bed. When another hand reached out to caress her thigh, Jyn informed the journalist dryly, “This isn’t happening.”  
  
“—Seriously?”

Jyn nodded, “Could you leave? ...Please?”  
  
She heard the door slam, but did not cross the room to properly lock all her locks. Something that would have annoyed Cassian endlessly. But she reclined; waiting to hear a soft strumming as Cassian attempted to tune all the way in L.A.  
  
He warned her, “This is going to be rough.”  
  
“I could be into _rough_ ,” purred Jyn back as a taunt. “But you’ve got to stick to one thing at a time. Is it going to be _rough_ ? Or are you playing a little song just for me? Whatever order you’d prefer...”  
  
Jyn heard the chords; bright and sweet. A slow tempo, but that could be the ‘ _rough_ ’ part. At the first bridge, Cassian stopped; explaining into the phone, “... imagine bells.”  
  
Jyn rolled her eyes, “ _Bells_ ?”  
  
“Bells. Chimes. The tinge of a triangle or two—”  
  
She made no attempt to hide her snort, “Is this really a song you’re working on? Or are you just messing with me—”

The guitar started playing again. Cassian asking a final time, “Imagine bells...”  

  
  
“ _—Oh, I could hide ‘neath the wings_ __  
_Of the bluebird as she sings_ __  
_The six-o’clock alarm would never ring!_ __  
__  
_But it rings, and I rise_ __  
_Wipe the sleep out of my eyes_ __  
_The shaving razor’s cold and it stings:_ __  
__  
_Cheer up, sleepy Jean,_ __  
_Oh— what can it mean to a_   
Daydream believer…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music References/ Playlist for this chapter:
> 
> ‘Wild Thing’ by the Troggs
> 
> ‘Daydream Believer’ by the Monkees


End file.
